


slowly, slowly

by elinadsy



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinadsy/pseuds/elinadsy
Summary: The words hang awkward and heavy in the air and he feels Holly stiffen up, even from across the room. Stupid, stupid, stupid.Two years later and Artemis is making his way slowly, slowly through life and his ambiguous relationship with the illustrious Holly Short.





	1. hiking

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own artemis fowl. no money, no profit, just fun!)
> 
> my faves. my otp. god bless them. anyway, just a little muddle of a story i work on and off on. good old slow burn.

The sensation of lips against his, a warm body flush against the lines of his own, and Artemis wakes from his sleep with a start, and the only case of morning wood he can remember in his life.

 Admittedly, he’s still missing approximately two years of that life, but as he sits up, eyes narrowed, chasing that slip of memory, he aches to be touched, and so, he touches. 

 He is not unfamiliar with his body, of course. He understands how beneficial masturbation is to his health. But always, it has been sensation, never on fantasy. Not memory. 

   It takes him all of five seconds to come, and it’s the strongest orgasm he’s ever had.

 Artemis lays there, his mind racing as he lines up memory with memory, bewildered. He has never been kissed in his life. He cleans himself up, and goes to shower, mind still churning. He shaves mechanically (now twenty, or so he has been told, his body aging faster than the centaur intended, he has a patch of black hair on his chest and a burgeoning beard which is patchier than he would prefer), and wonders, wonders, wonders.

_ Who? _

 Logically, his conclusion is Miss Paradizo, but he highly doubts it. Butler has long informed him that they hardly spent any time alone together, and she has since found an elegant girlfriend who loves telling Artemis about how terrible he is at chess.

 (He loses on purpose, because he knows Minerva’s girlfriend was terrified she would not stand up to the infamous Artemis, love of Minerva’s teenage years.)

Jaw smooth, he steps into the shower and blasts the pressure. It’s autumn, and cool, and the sun shines softly through the bathroom window. He has little to do today. It’s a Saturday morning, his latest ecological venture is running smoothly, and he is considering volunteering to go for a hike with Butler, something he has been told is uncharacteristic of him. But ever since he woke up, breath rattling in those fragile lungs, Artemis has yet to grow past the incredible appreciation he has for being housed in his body. Before he opened his eyes, surrounded by plush roses and his closest friends, all he could remember was emptiness, and crushing horror, struggling to keep his soul together. 

 Artemis climbs out of the shower, wrapping one of his favorite Herringbone towels around his waist, just in time for Butler to rap sharply on the door.

 Artemis knows it’s Butler- the space of time between the knocks, the sharpness. Also, because the twins never wake up until midday on the weekend, and his parents are in Nice, sampling wine.

 “Yes, Butler?”

 Butler opens the door, and the cool air that breezes by sends pleasant goose bumps up and down Artemis’s chest. 

 “Holly’s dropped by for a surprise visit,” he says gruffly. A single glance at Butler tells Artemis that he is mildly annoyed that his cooking has been interrupted- perhaps a cake, or even cup cakes, judging by the single smear of icing on his lapel.

 “I’ll be down shortly,” Artemis replies, and Butler nods, closing the door once more. After toweling himself, blow drying his hair, and going through his skincare routine, he slips out naked into his room. What to wear today? He does indeed warm to the idea of a hike, now that he sees the crisp sky and strong sun out his window. Pulling on underwear, he picks out his active wear leggings and t-shirt, pulling them over his head. In the mirror, somewhere, old memories trigger and tell him how ridiculous he looks- Artemis Fowl, in gym clothing. Of course, the leggings and t-shirt are state of the art, patented, and now used in the Olympics. Invented by him, naturally. He’s proud of them. Pulling on a similarly advanced jacket and walking shoes, he opens the door and goes downstairs.

 “Butler,” he calls, “I was thinking we might go for a hike today.”

Rounding the corner, he sees Holly in civilian clothing perched atop the kitchen counter stools, licking cupcake batter from her fingers while Butler slides a tray into the oven.

 “Sorry Artemis,” Butler says. “Today I have promised I would take the twins to the dojo for training. Then after that, I have a yoga session planned.”

 “Love the leggings, Mud Boy,” Holly grins wickedly, delightedly, cupcake mix smeared on her cheek.   

“You’ve got legs for days.”

 “Holly. What brings you here?”

 She shrugs, wiping her cheek. “The weather is beautiful, I’ve been given mandated annual leave, and an unlimited free pass on the shuttles.”

  Artemis arches a brow. “Mandated annual leave? Captain Short, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you’re a work-a-holic.”

 Holly flicks cupcake batter at him. It lands neatly, on his shirt. Artemis wipes it off- the material is hydrophobic and stain-phobic, and doesn’t leave a mark- and tastes it. It needs a touch more salt, but overall the gentle tang of sugar lemon is pleasing. Butler is, as per usual, an impeccable baker.

 “Being the head of Section Eight is somewhat time consuming,” she admits. “And Trouble is too good a head of the LEP to allow me to burn myself out.” Said with a touch of bitterness, he notices. Artemis takes a seat next to her. 

 Most of his memories have returned, now. Not as fast or as easy as they all hoped. He remembers their meeting, the goblin rebellion, the C Cube. It goes hazy then (Foaly theorizes it’s because he was mindwiped and those memories weren’t formed with the same levels of emotion). He remembers most of Opal’s return. The demons he doesn’t remember as well, though he has a great sense of affection for No.1. There’s a blank after that, try as hard as he might, hazes of lemurs and fours and the Emptiness, as he has come to think of it. That sense of the void, the struggle to stay conscious in a dimension removed from this one. 

 He can't look at roses, anymore.

 “Any new memories?” Holly asks, plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl.

 Artemis hesitates, that flash of warmth, and feels himself already growing hard at the memory. He dismisses it, choosing to answer, “Nothing of consequence.”

 “Mud Boy, everything you’ve done in your  _ life  _ has had a consequence,” Holly says.

 “Consequences are the result of actions, Holly,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s how the universe works.”

 She punches him lightly in the arm, biting into another strawberry. Her lips are stained red, and the image enraptures him.

 “I’d go on a hike with you,” she says. Lifts her leg up to show him her athletic footwear. “I came prepared.”

 “A tad ominous,” he mutters, but his mouth twitches. 

 “Are you armed, Holly?” Butler asks, washing the bowl he used for the mix.

 “Can a centaur eat a field of carrots? Of course I am.”

She pulls out a deceptively small pistol that Artemis recognizes the design of. 

 “I thought Foaly had yet to manufacture these,” he says. 

 She shrugs, grinning. “I guess being the Commander of Section 8 has some benefits. Where we gonna hike?”

 Artemis, as per usual, ignores her grammar (something he does not do for many people) and takes a banana (freshly grown in their greenhouses). “Our land includes the nearby hills and the bayside. Grass, or water, Commander?”

 “Beach,” Holly decides. “It’s been a while since I heard the ocean.”

 They leave, chatting. Butler sneaks a glance at his charge’s tiny little smile, and grins to himself.

-

The wind is so obscenely pleasant against his face Artemis has to stop for a second to enjoy the sun.

 “I can't believe how… outdoorsy you are now,” Holly grins. “Look at you. Out and about without a plot threatening the planet.”

 “For half a year I was trapped in between dimensions, in dark nothing. Understandably, I have a newfound appreciation for sunlight,” Artemis says, and Holly looks down. He feels guilty. “I’m sorry, Holly. I did not mean to make you upset.”

 “Gods, Artemis,” she laughs.

 “What?” he asks.

 “It’s just… you. How different you are.” Her eyes are fond, one blue and one hazel. His eyes are the same- the magic swap apparently affected his genetics for his clone.

 “I’d hope so,” Artemis says. “I wouldn’t want to be the same person forever.”

They resume walking, in comfortable silence. Artemis leads Holly down the winding pathway to the beach. Ireland isn’t really known for crystal clear beaches, but Artemis is fond of their little bay. The sea salt tang whips his face, invigorating and unforgiving.

 “So, what did you remember?” Holly asks, as they pick their way down the beach.

 “Nothing of consequence,” Artemis repeats, the back of his neck heating up. Holly laughs. “Oh, come on. I saw that hesitation. Artemis Fowl doesn’t hesitate,” she tells him, hands on her hips. She barely reaches his chest. This bothers him, as it has for quite some time.

  “I’m a changed man,” he counters, bending down to pick up a particularly spherical rock that he knows Myles will like, tucking it in his pocket.

  “You’re something alright,” is all she says, teasingly, but curiosity burns bright in her eyes. “How’s the SeaNet going?”

 His current venture- ridding the ocean of harmful man made waste.

 “Quite well,” he replies. “We’re almost done with the research and development part of the project now. Foaly and I are currently trialing the various methods we’ve come up with. In about six months, I’ll be ready to take it to the UN.”

 Holly shakes her head. “I can’t believe Artemis Fowl is still saving the world,” she says. 

 “Well, I do  _ live _ in the world, Holly. I’d like it to be somewhat inhabitable.”

 “I know,” she grins. “I just wonder- how different things would be if you had kidnapped some other fairy. Or never kidnapped one at all.”

 Artemis says nothing, running that interesting scenario through his head, the possibilities. 

 “Not so different,” he says. “But also very different. The kidnapping would have gone smoother. The Bwa’Kell rebellion would have not been stopped. But I would have stepped in- my surveillance was tied into Foaly’s at that point.”

 Holly laughs. “Would you still have taken down Opal, do you think?”

 Artemis thinks again. “Inadvertently, perhaps. I would have stopped probe my good friend Giovanni sent out. Even at that age, I would have appreciated the consequence of humans discovering fairykind. From there, too many variables. I’m not sure I would have prevented the upper world’s apocalypse.”

 Holly hmms. “You know, Artemis, fairies don’t really have a cohesive religion. When you live for so long-“

 “Religion doesn't build as efficiently, yes, I know, Holly. Please, to whom are you talking?”

 She treats him to a piercing look, and he holds his hands up in surrender.

 “ _ Anyway.  _ We  _ do _ have a strong belief in fate. You kidnapping me was fate. It had to happen.”

 “I’ve always found the concept of fate and religion to be a way of shirking personal responsibility, and avoiding the inevitable,” Artemis muses. 

  Holly puffs out an exasperated noise. “Of course you do.”

 Artemis smiles, choosing his words. “I believe in myself, Holly. And you. And science, naturally. Perhaps, I need to phrase it in a more sentimental manner.”

 “Don’t start crying on me, Mud Boy,” Holly warns despite a smile, climbing up a rock and meeting him eye to eye. Artemis places an affronted hand to his chest. Her breath smells like lemon sugar and her teeth are brilliant against her dark skin.

 “Belief in religion and fate are often the result of a deep seated fear of death and loneliness. I have experienced both, in the truest form possible, and one day, I will return to them when my time is past. That is an inevitable fact,” he says. 

 “ _ However _ . This experience has, as you say, changed me. I am neither afraid of being alone, or of dying. I accept those are results-  _ consequences _ \- of life.”

 “I’m still waiting for the part where you get sentimental.”

 “There is no point worrying about the inevitable, Holly. It is a waste of my time here. Why focus on the void when I can focus on you, or the twins, or Butler? Why focus on money? It will not follow me to the void. The good things I have done will follow me, the people I have loved. My legacy will not be one of material wealth, but of emotional wealth. When I pass on, I will pass on, and I will not be alone so long as my heart is full.”

 Artemis, having kept walking as he said this, stops when he realizes Holly is still standing on the rock about five meters back. She looks astonished, and a little teary.

 “That was beautiful,” she says. 

 “It was, wasn’t it?” he says smugly.

 “Gods, shut up,” she groans, shoving him. 

 “It’s such a beautiful day,” he says inanely, and sits on the rock next to her. She lowers herself to sit as well, and they watch the ocean for a time. He is piercingly aware of her, of her warmth, her ears quivering in the breeze. A memory shocks him then, of them flying in a broken plane, her struggling with the controls, how beautiful she looks, his heart pounding and the wind screaming against his ears, his skin,  _ I wish we could have been different _ -

His heart thunders in his chest, and he gasps. Holly immediately steadies him, concerned.

 “Artemis?”

 “I’m fine,” he gasps, breathes in and out, calming his thumping heart.

 “What did you remember?”

  “We were in a broken plane,” he says, struggling through a sudden headache as his brain places the memory between his existing ones. “You were struggling to keep us aloft. I think we were about to crash on the grounds.”

_ You looked beautiful _ .

 “That was before you sacrificed yourself,” she says. 

 Artemis feels the haze of another memory, and shakes his head disbelievingly.  

 “Was Mulch riding a troll?”

 “I forgot about that,” Holly laughs. 

 “How on earth could you forget about that?” Artemis asks disbelievingly, his headache beginning to fade. 

 “I had other things on my mind,” Holly says.

 “Well, that's now the most recent memory I have,” Artemis says, brushing the sand off his leggings. “Mulch Diggum’s backside atop a rampaging troll.”

 Holly is silent for a moment, then says, “I cried you know. When your will was read to us- when you left me the gold.  I thought you used it to pay for your father’s rescue expedition.”

Artemis doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he tries.

 “I was, I believe, going to return it to you at an appropriately dramatic time.”

 “I would have given it back to the LEP,” she says immediately.

 Artemis nods. “Of course. But I didn’t kidnap the LEP,” he adds. 

 “Even you would have found that a little bit difficult at twelve years old,” Holly jokes, and they both stand up and walk on, in good humor once more.

-

Half an hour passes, and their stomachs begin to rumble. Climbing up the beach and into the house, the scent of cupcakes is strong and Holly, ever the opportunist, tucks into the impeccably iced treats sitting on the cooling rack.

 “So what do you plan to do for the rest of your leave?”

 Holly shrugs. “No idea, to be honest. Have you got any suggestions?”

 “It’s a bit difficult when you’re barely a meter tall and have pointy ears,” Artemis muses. “You are, of course, welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”

 Holly grins. “Been a while since I had a sleepover. Can we have a pillow fight?”

 “Commander, in your hands a pillow is a dangerous weapon.”

 “That is true,” Holly says. “I could kill you with a marshmallow.”

 “Who couldn’t,” Juliet’s voice says, through the hallway. She pokes her head in, Miles and Beckett squabbling behind her, sweaty and dirty from their self-defense lesson. “Hey Holly. Hey Arty. I’m just dropping the boys back for Dom. He says he’ll be home by four.”

 “Holly,” Myles complains, pushing past his bodyguard, “Tell Beckett that Arty kidnapped you, he doesn’t believe me!”

 “It’s true,” Holly nods, and Beckett’s face crumples in disappointment at his older brother’s actions. “He’s made up for it though, Beck. Don’t take it too hard.”

 “Thank you for defending my good name, Holly,” Artemis says dryly, pouring himself some mineral water.

 “Anytime,” Holly says, taking another cupcake.

 “Come on boys, time to shower,” Juliet says firmly, hustling them up the stairs. “You can talk to Aunty Holly once you don’t smell like feet.”

“I don’t smell like feet!” Beckett protests.

“Kid,” Juliet says, nose scrunched, “You smell like feet. At least five of them. Get in the shower or no spaghetti for dinner.”

The twins grumble up the stairs and out of sight, Juliet following them.

 “She’s doing a surprisingly good job,” Holly comments.

 “She’s a Butler,” Artemis replies matter of factly. “She got her blue diamond tattoo while I was… gone. She’s still disappointed she didn’t break the record for the youngest person to receive it, though.”

 The kitchen is silent, while Artemis prepares a salad for Holly and a ham and cheese sandwich on freshly cooked bread for himself, save for the chopping of Artemis’s knife as he thinks of things for Holly to do.

 “You know, Commander,” Artemis says thoughtfully from his position at the chopping board, “We could go for a night time picnic and see the stars. We’re quite free of light pollution out this far.”

 “Why, Artemis, are you asking me on a date?” Holly teases (and is it her imagination, or does Artemis’s neck redden?).

 “Hardly a date,” Artemis says, his tone implying things that make her curious despite herself. 

 “Is that so,” Holly says, mockingly offended. “Am I not worthy of a date with the infamous Artemis Fowl?”

 “Well- that’s not-“ Artemis stutters, uncharacteristic, and Holly grins widely.

 “Calm down Mud Boy, that sounds lovely. You can bring a violin and serenade me with a rousing rendition of the periodic table.”

 Artemis huffs, but he’s smiling despite himself. A thought strikes him, and he hastens to add, “Of course, we could bring along Butler if you’d like to spend time with him as well?”

 Holly looks at him over her fourth cupcake. “Sure, I guess.” Her expression turns teasing. “Do you need a chaperone?”

 “Considering your age, you  _ would _ be the chaperone, would you not?,” Artemis jokes, but the moment he says it the words hang awkward and heavy in the air and he feels Holly stiffen up, even from across the room.

__ “I might... go to the bathroom,” Holly says, and hops off the stool, disappearing into the house.

 Artemis stares unseeingly at the tomatoes, berating himself. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _


	2. fine wine and dining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little food, a little wine, or; holly and artemis enjoy more lazy days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't own artemis fowl. no money, no profit, just fun!)
> 
> thanks for the lovely comment and kudos!

The next couple of days pass uneventfully. They dine on Butler’s finest Northern Chinese food, walk through the grounds, tour the house. Artemis doesn't bring up the stargazing again, too nervous, light on his feet. Holly hasn’t mentioned it, but Artemis feels that she too, has that uncomfortable taste on the back of her tongue. 

  “Do it again, Holly!”

They sit in the southern garden; Holly in the grass, fingers hooked into the dirt; Beckett on the edge of a tasteful fountain, legs swinging; Artemis quietly nearby, hands clasped as he watches them.

 Holly’s ears quiver and blue sparks blink and tingle along her fingers, dancing on the soil crumbling around her hand. 

 Artemis studies her intently, watching her brows furrow over the hook of her nose, her bow lips purse.

 Suddenly, a delicate daisy shoots up, turning its head towards the sunny autumn sky, petals unfurling like a woman’s elegant fingertips. Beckett  _ ooo _ ’s, scooting forward to examine the flower from all angles. Holly brushes the dirt off her fingers, and they all look at the little ring of daisies surrounding her.

 “I wish I could use magic,” Beckett marvels, gazing closely at the flowers. Holly gets up, taking great care to avoid disturbing the flowers, and surveys her work. Beckett steps into it, grinning.

 “Look, I’m in a fairy ring!”

 “Better move, little man,” Holly grins, baring her teeth playfully. “Maybe it's time I take my fairy revenge and abduct a _human_!”

 Settling into a crouch, she springs at Beckett who shrieks in surprise and laughter and they fall to the ground, wrestling, just beyond the flowers. Holly is small but compact, and Beckett is no match for her years of skill; she soon has him in a headlock in the dirt, ruffling his hair.

 “How much should I ransom him for, Mud Boy?” Holly grins up at Artemis, her undercut fringe in disarray and dirt on her face. 

 “You presume I’d actually want him back,” Artemis says, trying to ignore the undercurrent of guilt from the joke she is making. Holly mock gasps and Beckett pouts.

 “It’s okay little man,” Holly says reassuringly, stroking his hair as he wriggles in her grip, “You’ll like Haven. There’s heaps of cool stuff.”

 “I don’t want to live in Haven,” Beckett grumbles. “Fairies don’t eat meat.”

 “They make good cakes though,” Artemis says. 

 “One day, I’ll bring some back,” Holly promises the muck covered little boy, and finally relaxes her hold. Beckett takes the opportunity to flip her onto the ground. She lands with an  _ oof _ that Artemis knows is exaggerated. He’s willing to bet, in fact, that Holly knew Beckett was going to do that before she even let him go.

 “Gotcha!” Becket crows.

 “You got me,” Holly agrees solemnly. “Help a fallen soldier up?”

 Beckett and her clasp hands, and the boy pulls her back up before bounding away to search for Miles.

  “I can’t believe that kid is your brother,” Holly says, dusting herself off. Artemis glances at the patches of dirt on her backside, and weighs up Holly’s dignity and his own self-preservation (he knows she won't thank him for looking at her buttocks). Luckily, Holly dusts the seat of her pants off and the decision is taken from him.

 “He definitely has my cunning, though,” Artemis says with a touch of proudness.

 Holly says nothing, staring after Beckett as he runs into the house. The silence droops, and Artemis finds her ears have drooped a little; her fingers curled into a loose fist.

  “Holly?” Artemis says after a couple of minutes. “Are you ok?”

  She startles, looking up at him with those huge mismatched eyes. “What? Yes. Sorry.” Pink stains her cheeks. “It’s just nice to see children. There aren't many in Haven.”

  “Wait until you go with Juliet to pick the twins up from school,” Artemis says distastefully. “Far too many of them, and all of them dirty and loud.”

  “You were a child once,” Holly reminds him.

  “That’s what you think,” he says enigmatically, and she laughs.

-

Holly takes a shine to the Fowl gardens; Artemis finds her wandering there in the evening, talking to the various herbs and vegetables, cooing at the pumpkins. She seems particularly invested in the sweet potato patch, spending an extra couple of minutes there. Even from a distance, Artemis can see the blue sparks lazily flicking along the roots, the gentle shift of soil. He has no doubt that their next harvest will be huge, and extremely tasty. He calls out greetings, but Holly is focused and doesn’t respond. He takes the rare opportunity to position himself precisely behind her.

 “I wasn’t aware you could perform the  _ mesmer  _ on potatoes,” he says drolly, taking pleasure in how she startles, hand flying to where her Neutrino usually sits before she realises it’s him.

 “Very funny, Mud Boy,” she says, and rabbit-punches him in the leg. He winces. “Maybe I’ll tell the pumpkins to give you a beating, just for sneaking up on me like that.”

 “I don’t doubt they’d tell me what’s what,” he says dryly, pulling the legs of his pants back towards his hips as he squats down next to her.

 “Are you… squatting?” she says.

 “I’m glad to see the head of Section Eight has such excellent observational skills.”

 She punches him again in the thigh- a little lighter, but enough to almost topple him into the loamy soil. 

 “Artemis Fowl doesn’t squat,” she tells him. “That’s what Butler's for.”

 “I’m more flexible these days. If I’m feeling particularly showy, sometimes I even sit cross-legged.”

   She clearly tries not to grin. “To answer your question, the  _ mesmer _ works on any organic material. But the more basic it is, the harder it is to communicate your intention.”

  This pique’s Artemis’s interest. “Are you telling me that theoretically, you could perform the  _ mesmer _ on bacteria?”

 Holly blinks. “Um. I’m not sure. That’s a Number One sort of question.”

 Artemis hums, considering the possibilities. “Interesting.”

 Holly gives him a hard look. “Don’t go messing up the biosphere because you want a bacterium to do a handstand, Artemis.”

 “A handstand’s a little pedestrian compared to what I had in mind, but I get your point,” he concedes. “In any case, I was actually going to offer if you’d like to take home some of the vegetables when they’re ready?”

 “That would be wonderful,” Holly says. “Natural sunlight is impossible to replicate. Haven’s vegetables taste good but it’s not the same as proper sun-ripened greenery.”

 “I’m surprised that Foaly hasn’t set his mind to that,” Artemis says. “But then, I suppose carrots spend most of their time under the ground.”

 Holly huffs a laugh. “Foaly is more concerned about getting the kids into preschool right now.”

 “I imagine he has high expectations.”

 “I imagine a lot of that has to do with you,” Holly says, only a little seriously. “A twelve year old Mud Boy outsmarting him has done wonders for his expectations of a child’s capabilities.”

 “Fairy schooling,” Artemis muses. “Are schools segregated at all into species?”

 Holly’s mouth thins, and she plays with the soil. “No. But there’s a lot of bullying in the public schooling system.”

 “I suppose that doesn’t change regardless of whether you’re above or below ground,” Artemis says, noting her hunched shoulders. “Children are cruel.”

 “I suppose you’re going to regale me with tales of the older kids taking your lunch money.”

 Artemis raises a perfectly shaped brow. “Hardly, Holly. If you’ll remember, in fact,  _ I _ was the one taking the LEP's lunch money, so to speak.  _ I  _ was the cruel child.”

 Holly doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and then, abruptly: “I was bullied a lot.”

 “I find that hard to imagine,” Artemis admits, internally cursing his very sore thighs protesting at such a moment. “Why don’t we take a walk and you can tell me about the pithy idiots that ever considered you a weak target?”

 Holly chuckles, and they straighten up, wandering through the grounds. It’s a cool but pleasant evening, and the lanterns planted amidst the bushes provide a gentle, relaxing glow.

 “It was because I was shorter than everyone,” Holly explains.

 Artemis, of course, avoids stating the obvious. Holly notices immediately.

 “Well, when you’re this small, one centimeter makes a lot of difference,” she points out. “Anyway. It stopped by the time I was in junior high, but that was mainly because I had several detentions for giving various classmates black eyes.”

 “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Artemis says with feeling. 

 Holly shrugs. “I mean, it sucked. A lot. But I had good friends, and caring family. It could have been a lot worse.”

 Artemis shakes his head. “Just because it wasn’t as severe as someone else’s experiences doesn’t mean your hurt wasn’t valid. I’m genuinely sorry you were subjected to that.”

 Holly blinks, looking up at him. He glances down at her, at her mismatched eyes and her hooked nose and the curve of her lips, and looks away.

 “In any case,” Artemis says. “I’d say none of your bullies ended up as highly regarded and successful as you.”

 “This is true,” Holly admits. “I guess I have a bit of a reputation.”

 “Quite,” Artemis replies.

 “What about you, Mud Boy?” Holly elbows his hip. “No bullying at all?”

 Artemis shrugs. “Of course. But as we both know, I care very little about what idiots think.”

 “Of course,” Holly says graciously.

 “Besides,” Artemis continues, inspecting his nails. “All of their father’s companies went mysteriously bankrupt.”

 Holly shakes her head. “When was this? Preschool?”

 “I was in fifth year, thank you very much. I may be good, but even I could barely manage to hack the traffic systems when I was four, let alone the security of worldwide banking corporations.”

 Holly shakes her head again. “Did you come out of the womb with a PhD in software engineering and your own little laptop ready to go?"

 This time, it’s Artemis who’s struggling not to laugh. He’s too intent on choking the laughter that he forgets to say anything, and they just warmly gaze at each other for a little longer than strictly necessary.

 “I’m glad, you know,” Artemis says. “That I still have your eye.”

 “Well, we’re a matching pair after all,” Holly says, unsure how to respond to the honey in his voice.

 “It just gives me the opportunity to wear other, differently coloured,  expensive suits,” Artemis says, but his smile remains warm.

 “Ah, right,” Holly nods seriously. “Always searching for the angle.”

 Artemis taps his nose at her, but that warm smile still stretches those lips. “In any case, Butler will have dinner ready by now. Shall we head inside?”

 “I wouldn’t object. It’s getting a little cold. Why couldn’t you live in the tropics?”

 “With this complexion? Please,” Artemis says, holding open the door for her.

 “I know elves that would kill for that skin,” Holly tells him, shivering at the sudden, but welcome warm air.”

 “Don’t we all?” Butler says from the kitchen, ducking his head around the corner. “Just in time. Roast beef and honeyed roast vegetables for dinner tonight. Cooked seperately, of course, Holly.”

 “Thank you, Butler,” Holly says gratefully, as the two of them take a bar stool each at the kitchen counter, watching Butler take everything out of the ovens.. “It’s such a pleasure to have you cooking for me, honestly.”

 Butler shrugs, but Artemis can see a pleased little twitch on those impassive lips. “It’s a pleasure to have you around, Holly. Especially if it means you’re keeping Artemis out of trouble.”

“Butler, please. I’m an adult. I’m 23, apparently.”

 Butler points his spatula at Artemis accusingly. “You were an adult before you were toilet trained. I remember those old eyes of yours. You used to give little old ladies the willies.”

 “Charming vernacular, Butler.”

 “What was Artemis like as a little kid?” Holly asks, leaning forward on the counter top. Her shoulders just clear the top, so she lays her arms down and rests her chin on them. “Was he sprouting tech gibberish while he was still in diapers?”

 Butler’s eyes sparkled. “Actually, he didn’t speak until he was three.”

 Artemis rolls his eyes. 

 “What!” Holly exclaims. “What was his first word?”

 “It wasn’t a word,” Butler begins, grinning. Artemis clears his throat.

 “It was, if I remember correctly- and I do, because I was there- a full sentence to my nanny; “If you don’t take your hands off of my father’s safe, I will be immediately reporting you to the police.”

 Holly howls with laughter. Butler grins, plating the vegetables. 

 “I had known how to speak for a very long time,” Artemis tells Holly. “I just didn’t see the point. When people spend roughly half the time cooing at you and making you watch the Wiggles, it was hard not to think you’re the most intelligent person there.”

 “You loved the Wiggles,” Butler says.

 “I tolerated them.”

 “You used to wear blue shirts all the time because Anthony was your favourite.”

 “I like blue,” Artemis grumbles.

  “What’s the wiggles?” Holly asks.

 “An Australian children’s band,” Butler tells her. “We have a lot of channels on our television, as you can imagine. The Wiggles sing very simple songs about simple things.”

 “Ah. Like Cupid and the Arrows,” Holly says, grinning. 

 “Probably,” Butler says blithely. “Let’s eat.”

 Holly and Artemis follow him to the dining room, which is only set for three.

 “Where are the twins?” Holly asks.

 “Sleeping over at a friend’s house,” Butler says easily, slicing the lamb. “Juliet is, of course, on standby.”

 “I’m surprised Mother and Father have allowed it,” Artemis says. “They would never have let me stay over at a classmate’s house.”

 “You never wanted to stay over at anyone’s house,” Butler reminds him. 

 “Of course not. They didn’t have a Michelin trained chef, king sized beds or even Egyptian cotton towels.”

 “Glad to see you haven’t changed too much since you came back,” Holly grins, serving herself some potatoes. 

-

After dinner, Butler retires to the library to read a book by the fireside, leaving Artemis and Holly in the southern living room, drinking wine and chatting. Holly isn’t used to proper wine, or to such large glasses. Her cheeks are flushed, and though she isn’t untidy, she’s certainly not… neat.

 Artemis finds it quite endearing actually. She regales him with tales of her first years in the LEP (she finally tells him about the troll in Italy), laughing, gesturing wildly with her elegant hands. Her fashionably punk-rock undercut, as Juliet called it once, is mussed and sticking up in odd places, and whenever Artemis talks she regards him with such large solemn eyes, her chin on her hand. It soon moves beyond work stories into personal matters, and Holly relinquishes a golden nugget of information.

 “So, Trouble and I went on a few dates once-”

 Artemis’s eyebrows climb towards the ceiling. “Trouble? Trouble Kelp?”

 Holly waves her finger at him. “Don’t give me those eyebrows, mister.”

 “Was he… debonair?”

 “He was certainly something,” Holly says. “Do you know, he took me out to dinner, and tried to order me a salad?”

 “I thought you liked salad,” Artemis says despite himself. Holly narrows her eyes at him. 

 “Of course I like salad, I’m a vegetarian! But maybe I want literally anything besides salad!”

 “But you like salad,” Artemis says, again, despite himself. He’s hardly touched his own wine, but feels like he’s had several glasses. Something in Holly’s manner, in her smile, undoes him a little, loosens his tongue. “You very specifically requested Butler to make it yesterday for lunch. And not even a proper salad, just cos lettuce leaves with a basic balsamic dressing.”

 Holly stares at him over her wine glass. Artemis feels like he’s wildly close to yet another punch in the thigh.

 “Anyway,” Holly says, eyes still narrowed, “He had the nerve to order me a salad, and then complain about the bill.”

 “Very classy,” Artemis says, sipping at the 1934 French cabernet sauvignon, savouring every little drip of complex flavour. “You plan to spend the rest of your life with him, I assume.”

 “We're planning a June wedding next year,” Holly says very seriously. “Will you be my Maid of Honour?”

 Artemis lays his hand over his chest. “I’d be delighted. Mulch will be, of course, very disappointed.”

 Holly cackles, draining the last of her glass and helping herself to another. “I think Mulch has romance of his own, going on,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, and by God Artemis isn’t one for gossip but he can’t help leaning forward in his chair. Holly does the same, meeting him halfway; he can smell the wine on her breath and the perfume dabbed behind her ears (notes of elderflower and vanilla), and she looks at him in a way he can't quite pin down, as if she is about to checkmate him. She delivers each syllable as if she is tasting a delicate pastry, but with the savagery of a well timed punch.

  “Doo. Dah. Day.”

  Artemis leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. He isn't one for repeating, but he can't help say the words aloud again, just to check he hasn't misheard.

  “Doodah Day.”

 “Doodah Day,” Holly says solemnly.

 Artemis takes a very prolonged sip of wine, trying not to imagine Mulch engaged in carnal activities of any sort. “How on earth did that develop? I wasn’t aware dwarfs and pixies… dated.”

 Holly shrugs. “It’s not common, but not unheard of. Apparently they just hated each other so much that they, well, you know. It escalated into, well.”

 The two of them look at their wine glasses blankly. 

 “You said romance though,” Artemis says. He’s seen enough of Mulch’s bare bottom for the rest of his life and he’d like to stop there, thankyou very much. “So it’s not just…?”

 “They watches movies together and go for long walks in the park while holding hands,” Holly grins. “Sometimes Mulch buys him flowers.”

 “That’s surprisingly… charming.”

 “And now Trouble is engaged to Frond,” Holly says. “All my friends seem to be getting hitched. I swear, if someone doesn’t make me a godsmother I’ll be very disappointed.”

 Artemis smiles. “You’d make an excellent godsmother.”

 Holly beams, and Artemis can’t believe he’s sitting here, talking about someone else’s children with Holly Short, drinking wine, enjoying such an inane, banal, suburban activity.

 “This wine is lovely,” Holly tells him. “Sim-wine is wonderful but it’s not the same. Doesn’t have the same sort of  _ kick _ .”

 “Perhaps I should put my fairly impressive intellect into improving Haven’s food. I’m sure I could improve sim-made taste.”

 “First saving the world, and now my palette? Artemis Fowl,” she teases, leaning forward, “You’re a changed man.”

 Her legs tucked behind her and her eyes shining in the fire light, and Artemis looks away.

 “Well, I do my best,” he says a little roughly, and puts it down to the tannins sticking to the back of his tongue.

“Your best is better than half the world combined,” she says sincerely, yawning, and he doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“I think that might be quite enough wine, Commander Short,” he says instead. “Next you’ll be complimenting my stunning jaw line and inquiring about my marital status.” 

“As usual, you’re right,” she says lazily, finishing her glass. 

“Shall I walk you back to your room?”

“If you must,” she says, easing herself off the couch onto wobbly legs. Artemis offers her his arm, and she reaches up and wraps her hand around his forearm. Artemis is wearing a shirt and an expensive, thick cardigan, but he can feel each individual finger, and Holly can’t help but notice that forearm is a little broader than she would have expected, solid and reassuring.

  They walk quietly down the hallways, neither one of them saying anything, comfortable in silence until they arrive at the guest room. 

 “Well,” Artemis says. “Good night. Make sure you have some water. Holly Short with a hangover is not something I wish to experience.”

 Holly laughs, and squeezes his forearm. “Goodnight, Artemis,” she says warmly. Artemis looks down at her, about to say something sharp, and witty, but finds the words dying on his tongue.

 “Goodnight, Holly,” he says instead, and she squeezes his forearm one last time, perhaps a little longer than he would have expected, before closing the bedroom door behind her.


	3. starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holly and butler bake bread; artemis wears high waisted trousers

“So how long are you here for, Holly?” 

Both Artemis and Holly look up from their separate occupation; Artemis from his laptop, Holly from her book. 

 Juliet looks at them, Myles in a headlock. The boy seems to have resigned himself to this fate; arms cross and hair ruffled, he pouts petulantly.

 Holly looks at Artemis, who looks at her. Juliet looks, Artemis can’t help but think, a little too innocent.

 “Um,” Holly says, but then there’s a crash and Juliet swears, tugging Myles along with her as she sprints to find Beckett’s latest envoy into explosives.

 “It’ll be Mother’s vase on the second floor,” Artemis says, looking back down at his laptop, pushing his reading glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. Sure enough, Holly can pick up Juliet yelling about a vase on the edge of her hearing. They fall into silence, Holly returning to her book, but Artemis carefully regards her out of the corner of his eye.

 She’s been here for four days now, and continues to conspicuously avoid mentioning when she plans to leave.

 Not, of course, that he wants her to go (the way she curls into one of his mother’s many knitted blankets fills his home, his  _ hearth _ , that belly laughter, that sharp wit, wicked eyes peeping at him over breakfast).  But he’s surprised Holly is choosing to spend what he assumes will be the majority of her holiday here. He would have thought she’d like to travel under the cover of night, see the sights, and do tourist things in the small fairy outcroppings, like eat sorbet and take pictures that have been taken a thousand times before by humans and fairies alike. He doesn’t think badly of himself and his ability as a host, but surely she is beginning to sour of so much time spent together, morning to night? He sees no evidence of this but it seems, in fact, almost too good to be true.

 Artemis clears his throat, and Holly once again rises her head from the perilous swaddling of blankets she has surrounded herself with. 

 “So, how long exactly  _ is _ your mandated leave?” Artemis prods gently, affecting studious nonchalance.

 Holly looks sheepish. “I may have under exaggerated how much time off I’m meant to be taking.” She looks a little cranky. “I have maybe… four months owed leave.”

 Artemis raises a brow. “Four months?”

 Her lips thin, but her cheeks become round and dimpled, a contrast in emotions. “I like work,” she begins defensively. “What am I going to do in Haven with time off?”

 “I was rather under the impression you’d stalk the streets like a vigilante,” Artemis says drolly. “Catching devious litterers and old ladies jaywalking late at night.”

 “Does it matter?” she asks him, and he’s relatively certain there’s the faintest blushing staining that dark skin that says she’s put away at least one devious, littering, jaywalking old fairy. “I mean, I wasn’t planning to spend the entire time here, obviously, I don’t want to overstay my welcome-”

 Artemis takes a spontaneous gamble, catching himself by surprise. “It would be a pity to spend four months on the surface stuck on our estate in this little corner of Ireland. If you’d like, we could go for a trip across Europe?”

 She looks at him. He looks at her. She opens her mouth but he cuts across.

“I’ll have you know I can do all my work from this laptop, no, I don’t have anything better to do, yes, I know you can’t exactly waltz through Europe, yes, I enjoy throwing money away on spending time with my friend, no, no, yes, no, yes.”

 “You didn’t even bother explaining those last ones.”

 “Will Butler be bothered, will my parents be bothered (I’m an adult, Holly, despite my youthful charm), yes, I insist, no, it’s not any bother, and yes, I will make sure you consume the absolute maximum of  _ gelato _ possible. Besides, aren’t all twenty something’s meant to travel through Europe?”

 She glares at him, her cheeks all dimpled and her lips all thinned, and sinks back into her blankets for a couple of moments, peering at him over her book as she considers.

 “All the  _ gelato _ ?” she says after a couple of minutes. “Even the weird ones?”

 “Holly,” he says completely seriously, laying a hand over his heart, “Have I ever lied to you?”

 Holly continues to peer at him from the safety of her blanket wrappings, and decides not to point out the obvious. 

 “Why are you being so outgoing?” she says, again a few moments later. “I thought you hated being a tourist.”

 “I hate  _ tourists _ ,” he says in deft correction. “ _ Tourists _ here meaning Americans wearing colourful shirts and being culturally deaf and blind and spending hours gawking at Europe’s most overdone and overrated cultural artifacts.” He closes his laptop and leans forward. “A trip through Europe with me would be, much to my distaste for such cliches, an  _ experience _ .”

 Holly’s lips tipple upwards, and she points a finger at him, her fingers tiny compared to the blanket fortress she resides in. “Would you take selfies with me though? Or do vampires not show up in photos?”

 He gives her one of several special looks reserved for remarks about him being thin and very, very pale. She holds up her hands.

 “Alright, alright,” she concedes. “An experience with Artemis Fowl. Certainly sounds like... something. But in all seriousness, Arty, this sounds like a lot of effort. Yes, I can shield, but I’d have to perform the Ritual every couple of days at that rate, and what if I run out in a public place? I’m barely a meter tall. I can’t pass for a human with dwarfism. What you’re posing is a security risk to the People.”

 Artemis’s lips purse, because she’s right, but this idea has taken him in the breastbone, again that desire to see and do and explore, escape from the haunting memory of roses, to see Holly sundrenched against the ocean..

 “Give me a couple of days,” he tells her. “I’ll figure something out.”

-

And so he does, disappearing into his study for several days. Whenever Holly knocks on his door, he opens it, smiles at her, and tells her to be patient.

Holly has never been a patient elf- not exactly a good quality for the leader of Section Eight, let alone a member of a race that measures age in centuries. She spends those days without Artemis showing Beckett self defense tricks, showing Myles her magic, talking with Butler about food and screaming at the television wrestling fights with Juliet (and sometimes at Juliet, if one of her old matches happens to come on).

 Every one of these moments makes her heart full, this family becoming hers, settling into a routine that her heart takes on so quickly it dizzies her; breakfast with the twins,  morning workout with Juliet, Butler and her doing a morning jog then making lunch together, lazy afternoons in the greenhouse, dinner in the living room with everyone. 

 It’s been so long since she lived with her family, and every bit of her is frighteningly, gloriously, revelling in the feeling of living in a house with other people. She loves her own company, isn’t afraid of being lonely, but this, this,  _ this _ \- it’s an ache long forgotten, exposed.

 Butler and her knead dough for bread in the kitchen. She watches him, those burly forearms, nicked with scars and rife with muscle, those huge hands so carefully folding the dough, calluses pushing the air up and out. She thinks about those hands, and the very few pictures she's seen of a younger Artemis, barely up to Butler’s kneecaps, the bodyguard formidable and unsmiling behind him, clean shaven and non descript (or nondescript enough for a muscled giant).

 Those two faces were so different. Butler now, beard thick and grey, hair tied into a neat ponytail, a radiating nexus of laugh lines from those dark eyes, stretching out across a face that used to be so devoid. What changed? She wonders, and so, she asks.

 “When did he become your son?” She says quietly, sprinkling more flour on the bench, and Butler stills only for a couple of seconds.

 “I couldn't tell you,” he says, smiling to himself. “He was such a lonely child.”

 “I thought Angeline was with him a lot of the time?”

 “She was,” Butler allows, laying the dough in one of several bread tins. “But she suffered from terrible postnatal depression for a very long time. It made it very hard for her to connect with him, I think.”

 “That’s awful,” Holly says, laying cloth over Butler’s tin. “Having a child is such a wonderful thing- it's awful she had to suffer that.”

 “I think that was what laid the foundations for Artemis and I,” Butler tells her. “Artemis Senior was hardly around, and even though Angeline tried her best, her mental illness made day to day life difficult. The Butlers are already above and beyond the usual class of bodyguard, but I couldn't sit by and watch this astonishingly bright and sad child just… wither.

 “Artemis never cried,” he adds. “Even when he was born, apparently. He was a very solemn baby, as you can imagine, and prematurely born. The Fowls were very concerned about his health.”

 “He’s come a long way.”

 “Yes. I never would have expected him to develop such a… well, not love, but  _ appreciation _ for the outdoors.” Butler smiles, and dusts rubs his hands together, dusting off small bits of dough. Holly’s eyes are drawn to a particularly long and thin scar that goes along his inner forearm. “It makes me very happy to see him outside so often.”

 “Where’s that one from?” Holly asks him, point at the fine white line that contrasts against his rough, golden skin.

 Butler glances at it as he takes the next roll of dough and drops it into the flour, white puffing up like ocean spray.

 “The family cat,” Butler grins.

 “There was a family cat?” Holly asks, but even as she speaks she can easily imagine an elegant, pure white cat lazily draped across Artemis’s lap as he plots dastardly plans.

 “Mhmm. Her name was Hebe, after the Greek goddess of youth. Angela used to call her ‘Heeby Jeeby’ though, because she had these big mismatched eyes and liked to wake you up in the middle of the night.”

“What happened to her?” 

Butler shrugs. “She got old. She was around fifteen years old when Artemis was five. I got this one when I tried to pick her up from Artemis’s crib and she didn’t want to move, so she scratched me. Bled like a stuck pig, too.”

 “She loved Artemis?”

 “Adored him. She was already a smoochy cat, but it was impossible to separate them. He was around eight when she finally died. He was devastated.”

 “Why didn’t they get another cat? Or a dog?”

 “Angeline loved her too. I think the thought of trying to replace her was just too much.”

  “We don’t really have pets in Haven. Living quarters are too small and there’s no animal that can comfortably live below ground that people really like, besides lizards and bats, maybe.”

  “I was always more of a dog person, myself. My family had a wolfhound. Huge, big dopey thing. It’d be nice to get a dog again.”

  “Where’s your family, these days?”

  Butler hums, kneading the new knot of dough out. “Parents have long passed. So here, really. Wherever Juliet and the Fowls are. You?”

 Holly feels her ears redden a little bit.

 “Here too, I guess,” she says, and doesn’t see how Butler smiles at her a little too knowingly.

-

That night she still hasn’t seen Artemis all day, so she takes some roast vegetables up to his room in a bowl covered in tin foil, her arms lost in Juliet’s baggy sweater and the sweat pant shorts tied up as tight as they can go.  Knock, knock, knock on the door and then she comes in after Artemis says through the mahogany, “Yes?”

 He’s sitting at the desk in his high leather chair, looking a little crinkled but in good spirits. He accepts the bowl absent mindedly, and sets it down on the desk, examining her with a thoroughness that makes her self conscious, naked, lingering on the muscled dip of her thighs before focusing firmly on the op-shop knitted jumper.

 “What?” she says.

 “That jumper of Juliet’s is hideous,” he says. “You appear to be drowning in it. Shall I throw you a life preserver and drag you to shore where you can put on some clothes from this century?”

 “Ha ha,” she deadpans, rolling the sleeves back up on her forearms. “Shut up and eat your vegetables.”

 His eyes twinkle, and he pops a quartered roast carrot in his mouth. “What did you get up to today?”

 “Butler and I baked some bread. It was nice.” Holly sits on the loveseat opposite him, and he turns the chair to face her as he slowly eats the roast vegetables. “And I let Beckett flip me for two hours in a row.”

 “Myles better watch out,” Artemis comments. “How are the pumpkins? Are you reigning supreme as their leader, yet?”

 “I’m running a good campaign, but my opponent,  William Butternut, is in the lead for now.”

 “I’ve heard his position on pumpkin tax is quite controversial. Maybe you can use that to your advantage?”

 “Maybe,” Holly says, grinning despite herself. “Anyway- have you just been holed up in here twiddling those bony thumbs? What have you been working on?”

  “This and that,” Artemis says airily. 

  She levels her finger at him. “Artemis,” she warns.

  He holds his hands up. “Nothing drastic, Holly. Just calling in favours, arranging some things. Also, we’re going to a tailor tomorrow.”

  “What?”   
 “As cute kitsch as you look in that jumper and as impressive as your legs are, Holly, I refuse to be seen in public with someone wearing knitted purple and green houndstooth.”

 And she blinks, because did Artemis just-? But he’s still talking, not letting her ears rest on those words.

 “Also, the sky is forecasted to be clear tomorrow night, and I believe I owed you a starlit picnic and Mendeleev’s  _ Table Periodica _ ?”

 “Don’t think you’re getting away with that backhand compliment, Arty,” she says, shaking her finger at him. “But I’ll never say no to a star lit picnic.”

 “I haven’t the foggiest idea by what you mean,” Artemis says innocently, and if his eyes drop briefly to her legs, tracing the definition of her knees, she doesn’t notice.

-

The tailor is an old French lady with rheumy eyes and crinkled skin fingers, the years apparent, but those eyes are sharp, those fingers deft, and she doesn’t ask any questions about Holly besides color preferences and fabric allergies. Artemis sits on a stool in the corner. Holly is stripped down to her combat shorts and a skin tight running top, turning and holding positions as the tailor clucks her tongue. Her undercut doesn’t do much to hide her ears, but she’s purposely draped her hair over the point tips. Somehow, though, she doesn’t think even if Marie notices, she would say or think much. Artemis informed her before the tailor arrived that she was the sort of high class tailor that knows when to remain quiet, and besides, who believes in fairies?

  “What sort of dress are you wanting, Mr Fowl?” she asks him in French.

  “A single evening gown, a single cocktail dress, and then a casual chic autumn wardrobe for the seasoned, but relaxed traveller,” is Artemis’s reply, in the same language, ignoring Holly’s disbelieving look. “On the tab as usual, Marie.”

 “She has her own undergarments, I assume?” 

 “I do,” Holly says in French, giving Artemis a look that she hopes says, very specifically,  _ do not even  _ think _ about purchasing tailor made underwear for me. _ “And I already have my own clothes, Artemis, why wouldn’t I just duck back to Ha-home, and get them?”

 “Because your clothes aren’t quite up to standard for the places we will be going, they will stand out culturally,” he replies, ticking his fingers off as he goes, “I have a large amount of money and increasingly less to spend it on, and I enjoy treating my friends.”

 “It’s unnecessary,” Holly mutters, as Marie hands her back the jumper Artemis so despises,  and she pulls on her pants over the combat shorts, slipping her sneakers back on.

 “So indulge me,” Artemis says gently, and Holly can’t think of a reply, so she does. He turns to Marie. “Thank you, Marie.”   
 “My pleasure, Mr Fowl,” the little old lady says, and they see her to the door.

 As they wave goodbye, Artemis turns to her. “Don’t be too worried, Holly. The majority will be simple shirts and pants, and some warm clothing.”

 “You’re turning this into such an event,” she says in exasperation. “I would have been very happy to just stay at the manor for the entire time.”

 “Maybe  _ I _ want to travel?” Artemis teases, but there’s something in his eyes that make Holly think of how he looked when he talked about the inevitability of death. 

 “I don’t think Butler will enjoy us dragging him through Europe,” Holly says half heartedly.

 Artemis shakes his head. “Butler will join us for some of it, but in most cases it will just be you and me, Holly. You’re armed and trained. I have no fear of my safety.”

Holly doesn’t know quite what to say to that. Several weeks alone with Artemis? She’s enjoyed her week with him, but several of them? She can’t help but think this is a bad idea, that they’re going to hate eachother by the end of it. Perhaps Artemis senses her reluctance, her doubts, because he smiles reassuringly.

 “We aren’t on any type of schedule, Holly. In any case- we don’t have to go. I can travel whenever- please do not feel obliged, at all.” He looks very relaxed, but there’s a nervousness in his eyes.

 Holly may be a little concerned, but it’s nothing next to the growing seed of excitement that’s been slowly growing, the idea of the ocean, the wind, history and nature and the Mud People’s most lovely creations, laid before her like a map. She doesn’t fear for her safety or for Artemis’s. She trusts him when he says she doesn’t have to worry about exposure, and she knows that he trusts her with his life. The world is a safer place, and Holly feels, for the first time in a while, like finally, she can breathe- that the world can hold itself steady for a couple of months, maybe even a year.

 “My main concern is that several weeks is a long to spend with someone,” she says slowly, deciding truth is the best option.

 Artemis inclines his head graciously, and he looks embarrassed. “I suppose that hadn’t crossed my mind,” he says reluctantly. 

 “Not that I’m sick of you, or anything,” she says hurriedly. “It’s just… I suppose I’m so used to spending a maximum of a couple of days with you while the world goes to shit.”

 “It is somewhat of a habit of ours,” Artemis admits wryly, but his mismatched eyes search hers. “But like I said, Holly- please don’t feel at all pressured. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Please accept my apologies.”

 “There’s no apology required,” Holly tries, and both of them lapse into an awkward silence, neither sure what to say. Artemis, in a rare moment of genuine embarrassment, is unable to think about anything besides how presumptuous he’s been, and Holly feels guilty for doubting their friendship, feels stupid for considering turning down such an offer.

 “Perhaps,” Artemis says slowly, “We take it country by country.”

 “That sounds like a better idea,” Holly says gratefully, appreciating his concession.

 Artemis smiles at her, and they both feel their worries lift.

-

Holly decides to take a blanket outside and nap beneath the sun dappled grass of one of the bigger trees in the garden, the sun shifting and swaying in lazy patterns across her skin, sleepily watching the grass shift like water. She’s warm and comfortable, and thoughts absently swirl through her mind like ink in water, rippling outwards into nothing.

 It’s been a long time since she just laid down like this. It feels like she’s never stopped, her body taut in preparation for the worst.

_ The worst is over _ , she reminds herself.  _ The world is safe, and Artemis is okay. Relax. _

__ Maybe that’s what’s felt so surreal about this past week- that she’s finally been able to relax. When did she last get to really, truly relax? Perhaps college days, in between those semesters, curled up with one of many partners. A particular memory, of an old girlfriend, the two of them laying in bed, legs entwined and lips lazily left against skin as they fell asleep. Holly can't remember her name, and feels awful, but remembers that moment so vividly in it’s quiet.

 Leaves crunch and she cracks open an eye, watching Artemis leave the house in thick, high waisted trousers and a baggy shirt, sleeves rolled up to those surprising forearms. He looks like he belongs in  _ The Princess Bride _ with those long legs, she thinks (the Mud Men have done a lot of harm but if they don't produce some of the greatest cinema she’ll eat her helmet). He’s changed so much. Even his suits seem less cold, and she remembers almost fell off her seat to see him in activewear when she first arrived.

 He pauses for a second in the sun, savouring the warmth, and then catches sight of her. She watches him through one eye as he slowly comes towards her; he clearly thinks she’s still asleep, trying to make his steps quiet. Even that little effort, the idea of him slowing a basic movement for her, is strange.

_ I was a broken boy, and you saved me. _

He’s close enough her sensitive nose can smell his faint aftershave. It’s fresh, like citrus, with a hint of cinnamon. It smells warm and fresh, and he hovers over her for a bit until she cracks open her eye again to look up at him, sleepy. 

 “Nice pants,” she says.

 “Thank you. I think the high cut waist is a little frivolous, but I can't help but indulge myself every now and then.”

 “Well you certainly have the legs for them,” she says in her sleepy stupor and instantly regrets it when one of his impeccable brows inches upwards.

 “Thank you, I grew them myself,” he says very seriously, and she laughs, stretching out like a cat. Artemis slowly lowers himself next to her, and they sit in personable silence, enjoying the fresh breeze.

 “What’s it like, in Haven? The weather, I mean. How does it differ to above?”

 Holly turns her head to him. He leans against the tree trunk, head back, eyes closed.

 “Well it’s not exactly fresh,” she says. “What do you mean?” 

 “Is there a governmental department dedicated to emulating the weather? I know you have a day and night cycle, but what about a weather cycle?”

 “Not really. The weather is consistently mild, I suppose. I was aboveground in England once during their spring. It reminds me of that. There’s an entire cave dedicated to growing food in controlled climates, so rain isn’t really required, and fairies hate the cold, so.” She shrugs. “It’s nice to have weather though, I think. It’s nice to have something a little different everyday.”

 “What’s your favourite surface weather?”

 “I went above ground in Australia during their summer. The warmth was astonishing, I’ve never felt anything like it. America’s spring in the woods is lovely, though.”

 It occurs to Holly again, how much he has changed. These are genuine questions about her people’s way of life that don’t relate to technology, to money. She knew Artemis had changed, but this is beyond that, this simple, suburban difference.

 They watch the sun start to set. An hour passes, in simple silence, as light slides across the sky, orange and buttery. As the sky finally starts to darken and stars hint against the sky, Artemis gets up. 

 “I believe I owe you a picnic?” he says, extending his hand to her.

-

Holly gapes, and gapes, and gapes.

 The stars stretch out before her, endless and endless, a tapestry of light.

 Behind her, Artemis sets up tea in two thermos, a fruit platter, roast vegetable lasagna in a thick bowl, serviettes, sparkling water, on a checkered blanket spread over the table. 

 They’re in the depth of the hills belonging to the estate, in a rolling valley. The little golf cart Artemis drove them in sits aways a little, and all Holly can do is turn and turn and turn, staring at the stars.

 Very quiet jazz piano begins to croon, and Holly finally snaps out of her daze to see Artemis fiddling with a little speaker, light by an electric candle he brought with them. He looks up, and shrugs.

 “I promised you a serenade,” he says. “Nat King Cole is the best I can do.”

 “It’s so beautiful,” Holly says, gesturing at the sky.

 “My father had this little picnic table installed here when he and Mother first moved in. He used to take her here all the time.”

 “Romantic,” Holly says, and Artemis fiddles with cutlery, straightening it. He’s always had a sharp face but it looks softer against the candle light, those cheekbones sloping, that chin rounded. He clears his throat.

 “Yes. Quite. In any case, we will be leaving in two days, on a plane to Greece, and working our way back towards Ireland.”

 “So how have you decided to conceal me?” Holly says, picking up a quartered apricot.

 Artemis smiles. “We aren’t.”

 Holly levels a look at him. “Excuse me?”

 “Holly,” he says. “Trust me.”

 “This is serious, Artemis.”

 “Except that it isn’t,” he argues. “You put too much stock into a race that’s just pulled itself back from technological apocalypse. There’s no phone networks, no public internet save for the few rich and intelligent people like me, who have barely managed to keep our own private sectors. We’ve barely our way into the eighties, and most importantly- no-one believes in fairies. I propose this- prosthetics to cover your ears, classic European clothing such as the wide brimmed hat, tall shoes and avoiding throngs of people. 

 “Additionally, I’ve pulled in favours- dozens, in fact- and Foaly has agreed to play our master of tech security on a preprogrammed route, meaning the few bits of technology left in the world won’t even register you.”

 Holly slowly eats the apricot, looking at him. “How did you pull Foaly into this far fetched shenanigan?”

 He points the knife he’s serving the lasagna with at her. “Foaly agrees with me that you are well overdue for a holiday.”

 Holly harrumphs, but Artemis cuts across her.

 “And frankly,” he says, so quietly, “I need one too.”

 She opens and closes her mouth, and squints at him, at how he delivers that remark, laced with hidden meaning.

 “Please, Holly,” he says, and there’s a sudden desperation there she doesn’t know the source of, and she just nods. His eyes search her in that dim light, and he seems satisfied with whatever he sees, settling back onto the seat and passing her the plate.

 “Don’t forget you promised me,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. He waves a hand.

 “Yes, yes, all the  _ gelato _ , I know. Would you just sit and enjoy the nebula spread before you?”

 She grumbles, but finds herself gazing up again at the sky. Artemis  follows her gaze.

 “It’s been quite a while since I was last  out here,” he says.

 “Me too,” she says, and their eyes meet over the strawberries. He smiles at her, and for some reason, she can’t hold that gaze, her ears reddening, and she looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't own artemis fowl. no money, no profit, just fun!)
> 
> thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudos! 
> 
> the lovely sezony also pointed out that fairies aren't supposed to drink wine!!!! my apologies, I completely forgot about that. (let's pretend that isn't a thing for the sake of this story. I am full of regret and apologies!!!!!)
> 
> also, thank you all for your patience for the next chapter! i feel this isn't a strong chapter, but it needed to be written. the next couple of chapters will be more show and less tell.


	4. diving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> artemis dons his bathers and holly does her level best not to be impressed by some rocks.

The sea sparkles beneath them, a million tiny refracting crystals, and Holly once again drums her fingers on the arm rest;  _ What is she thinking?  _ Three months with the man who used to be her greatest enemy! Within a week, they'll be clawing each other's eyes out like a couple of old, grumpy goblins over a game of Fireball.

 Artemis sits across from her, reading an e-book. The light comes through the window and cuts across his cheekbones, glowing against those mismatched eyes.

 “Something wrong, Commander?” he asks lazily, without looking up. She forces her fingers to still..

 “No,” she lies, looking back out the window. “Just wondering why you aren't flying this old hunk of junk instead of Butler.”

He looks at her. “If this is a hunk of junk, then the Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita is an old pick up truck. And in regards to me not flying- I’m meant to be on holiday, aren't I?”

 “When are you  _ not _ on holiday,” she mutters.

 The plane is small but (of course) an exercise in tasteful luxury. Wooden panelling, dark faux leather, mini fridges, and so on. It makes Holly think

of that luxury shuttle Opal stole all those years ago, but there's a- a not quite warmth, but  _ humanity  _ about this plane. Artemis said it's been in the family for a decade or too, and it shows, especially now that the twins have ridden in it and worn the interior down a bit. Regardless, she's still antsy. She wishes she was the piloting, or even flying alongside them.

 She crosses her legs, uncrosses them, and then reclines her chair.

 “I’m glad to see the patience that made you the LEP darling is still in effect,” Artemis says drolly. He puts his e-book reader down, and folds his hands on his knees. “Would you like to watch a movie? Read a book? Have a nap?”

 Holly crosses her arms, hating how he strips away the age difference between them and comes out on top.

 “I forget how  _ long  _ Mud Men flights are,” she grumbles, staring up at the hull. “If we had just taken a shuttle we would have been there by now.”

 “I’m sure you can spare the three hours,” Artemis replies. 

 Holly twists her face but doesn't say anything, feeling his gaze on her. 

  He clears his throat and reclines his chair back. “I’m going to have a nap,” he tells her, taking an eye mask from the little cabinet next to the seat and sliding it over his face. “Why don't you go harass Butler?”

 “Maybe I will,” she mutters, but even as she goes to unbuckle her seatbelt, the plane turns so slightly and that light from the window slips low across Artemis’s face, and she stares at it, at him.

 The sharp line of that jaw, the pulse thudding lazily. She thinks of all the beautiful women and handsome men she’s kissed there, on that little concave stretch of skin.

 Shame courses through her, hot and heavy, and she gets up abruptly. This is  _ Artemis _ , not one of her past lovers, don't be  _ gross  _ Holly!

 She stalks to the cockpit, sliding open the door. Butler looks up with a smile on that worn face, and she sits next to him in the co-pilots chair.

 “Artemis is asleep,” she says. “It's boring back there.”

 “Isn't boring good though, sometimes?” Butler chuckles. “I can think of many times we were on a plane where I would have killed for  _ boring _ .”

 Holly crosses her arms, and he glances at her. 

 “Is everything ok, Holly?” he asks gently, and his use of her first name makes her relax a little.

 “I don't know, Butler, it's just- why is Artemis doing this?”

 “He likes his beauty sleep,” Butler says lightly, but waits for her to keep talking.

 “Why would he want to take me on a trip to Europe? Since when did Artemis Fowl enjoy travelling?”

 Butler doesn't say anything for a bit, and then says, “I think Artemis is running, Holly.”

 “From what?”

 Butler’s lips twist up a little, and he shrugs, doesn't say anything for a while- and then;. “He won't have roses in the house, anymore.”

  Holly looks back behind her, just able to see Artemis’s elbow as he dozes.

 “He seems fine,” she says slowly. “He said all this stuff to me about how he had a new appreciation for family, and how he wanted to live his life-”

 “I don't disagree with that,” Butler says quickly. “It's more that- I think he's suffering from PTSD. He would never tell you, or me, and I think he's trying to work through it himself, but-” he exhales. “Just… keep an eye on him. I’m worried. I don't think he's going to throw himself from a building, or go searching for trouble, but I’m  _ worried.” _

_  “ _ He’s your son,” Holly says, laying a hand on his arm. “Of course you're worried.”

 He pats her tiny hand and smiles at her. “Thanks, Commander,” he replies, and they lapse into comfortable silence.

 “So what are you looking forward to in Greece?” Butler asks her about ten minutes later.

 “I don't know,” Holly says, suddenly nervous again, but this time about the security. “Not blending into a crowd, that's for sure.”

 “It'll be fine,” he promises. “I’ll be on standby at all times and so is Foaly. Between that and Artemis’s planning power, you'll be safe.”

 “I better be,” Holly grumbles, thinking of all that time ago when she was almost killed and eaten.  _ What fun. _

_  “ _ Travelling across Europe is a rite of passage for people Artemis’s age,” Butler grins. “Is there a fairy equivalent?”

 Holy hums. “Making the pilgrimage to the hot spots, I guess? There are a few different spots across the world where magic runs hot in the Earth. Tara, Uluru, and so on. A lot of fairies take a couple of years off after college and make their way around them.”

 “Did you?”

 “Of course,” Holly says. “Went with my girlfriend at the time. It was a great trip- besides us breaking up when I realised i couldn't spend more than two days straight with her.”

  “I went out with someone just like that once,” Butler grins. “It was all fireworks until I realised if I had to hear him chewing food one more time I’d have to utilise my shoelaces in a vaguely criminal fashion.”

 “I once dated this guy who breathed only through his mouth,” Holly says.

 “I once dated a guy who breathed through his mouth  _ and _ had squeaky tonsils.”

 Holly huffs, and punches him in the arm. “It's not a competition,” she says, grinning.

 Butler grins back at her. 

 “Also, since when did Butlers date?” she exclaims, the significance of his casual admission striking her, punching him in the arm again. 

 “Finding the time is hard,” Butler admits. “Before I was officially hired by the Fowls when Artemis was born, I saw a couple of people on and off. I would have been in my late twenties when they flew me back to Ireland.”

 “Anyone special in your life, now?” Holly asks.

 “Mm,” Butler smiles, but doesn't say anything else.

 “Oh, come on! You can't say that and then not tell me!”

 “I can so,” he says. “It's not anything serious yet, I want to see how it goes before I expose my greatest weakness, thank you very much.”

 Holly  _ harrumphs _ , and looks out the window over the clouds.

-

Artemis falls and falls and falls, darkness all around him, his mind peeling inch by inch away from his body, and he jolts awake in his chair, sweating, fingers clenched, the scent of roses thick and heavy in his nose like a cloying corpse.

 He stares up at the hull, focusing on his breathing, noting how his fingers feel against the material of the seat, how solid his feet feel against the ground. He coldly tracks each drop of sweat sliding down his neck, the muscle twinging in his back. Breath eases in and out of his lungs, and after five minutes and twenty four, he relaxes, running a hand through his hair and flipping the seat back upright.

_ Only three dreams this week,  _ he says to himself but even in his head it isn't as congratulatory as he'd like.

 He takes a long sip from a chilled bottle of a very expensive berry cider that Minerva recommended to him, presses the bottle against his forehead.

_ I’m getting better, _ he tells himself, and drains the entire bottle in an attempt to calm his heart rate. He doesn't advocate alcohol as a method of self medication, but he needs it right now,  _ one drink does not an alcoholic make,  _ he tells himself only a little jokingly, and stands up so he can go to relieve himself, taking the bottle with him, depositing it in the bin with more force than necessary. 

__ In the bathroom, he splashes a little water on his face, adjusts his lapels (no tie today, he's in  _ vacation mode _ , so only  an exquisite casual jacket, button down shirt and a pair of tailored chinos). 

 He looks at himself in the mirror sternly, and steps back out. 

 The light coming through the windows says  _ late afternoon _ , and he ducks his head into the cockpit where Holly is asleep in the co pilot seat and Butler is staring out the window, relaxed.

 “Almost there,” his ex-bodyguard says, flicking a couple of switches. “Another thirty or so minutes before landing- you better go out your seatbelt on.”

 Artemis hums in assent, and gently puts his hand on Holly’s shoulder. He can feel the hard muscle beneath her jumper and is uncomfortably struck by how his hand almost covers her entire upper arm.

 “Holly,” he says, gently shaking her. Her eyes flutter open and she stretches, rubbing her eyes.

 “We there yet?’

 “We will be shortly. Butler needs us to go strap ourselves back in for descent.”

 Holly huffs, stretching her legs out and then standing up. 

 “See you down there, Butler,” she says, and follows Artemis back to their seats. As she slots her seatbelt back in place, her nose wrinkles and she sniffs the air.

 “Did you have a drink?” she asks him.

 “Just a cider,” Artemis says a little quickly.

-

Holly loves Greece the moment she steps off the plane. The sun scorches, and oceans roll, the sea salt breeze sharp. 

 “Welcome to Vouvalos,” Artemis says behind her, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

 “Let me guess,” she says only half joking, gazing out at the white sand, crystal oceans. “Your father owns the island.”

 “Not quite,” Artemis says. “My business partner's wife does.”

 Holly gives Butler a look as he joins them on the runway. Butler winks at her.

 “Well, you show Holly to the house, Artemis. I’ll bring the luggage up.”

 “Excellent idea, Butler. Come, Holly,” he says briskly, and begins a sharp walk towards a cliff.

 “Surely you don't intend to climb that,” Holly grins, adjusting her wide brimmed hat and checking her sunscreen coverage.

 “Hardly,” Artemis replies. They reach the cliff a few minutes later, and once they reach the base, Holly crosses her arms.

 “Ah, yes,” she intones. “Rocks. I haven't seen enough of these at home, underground, where I live, surrounded by minerals.”

 “Do try to curb your enthusiasm,” Artemis grins, and reaches out to rap sharply on a nondescript rock jutting out slightly. The dark stone depresses and slides in, revealing a very slick looking keypad. He enters in a fifteen digit code (“Overkill,” Holly says loudly) and twenty feet of rock slides back into itself with nary a spark, revealing a tall, modern hallway.

 “Okay,” Holly allows, feeling Artemis’s expectant stare on her. “A mildly amusing piece of Mud Man architecture.”

 “If you found that amusing, you’ll find this side splitting,” Artemis says, motioning for her to go through the hallway. at the end is a lift, and they step into it. Artemis presses “5” and the doors close, the lift shoots up so smoothly Holly doesn't even realise they've moved until the doors open on the other side and now she  _ is _ impressed.

 White, stark but not cold, airy carpeting, wall to wall windows, all overlooking the ocean

 “Is this  _ carved _ into the cliff?” Holly asks breathlessly, darting towards the window. There's a drop straight down to the sand and crystal waters, and she can see there's a small lagoon down there. 

 “It is,” Artemis replies, hanging up his jacket by the door. “It's exquisitely done. I’d tell you how much it cost, but I don't want you to faint.”

  “I can only imagine,” Holly says. “Okay, Mud Boy. Color me impressed.”

 He looks distinctly pleased before he clears his throat. “So, we will be here for the next couple of days. Think of this as a primer for our trip- no one on this island besides us three, the ocean at your beck and call, and- of course- fine food and wine, prepared by our resident Michelin trained chef, Butler..”

 “It's beautiful,” Holly breathes, still staring back out at the sea.

 “Yes, I’m rather impressed with the pairing of furniture and decor- and as picky as I am with the so called modernist movement, I must concede that this little old shack is superbly decorated-”

 Holly looks at him and he stops.

 “Ah. You meant the ocean.”

 He joins her at the window and she punches him in the shoulder, but only a little.

 “You may have noticed the lagoon,” he tries. “The lift goes down to it; there's a minibar and beach umbrellas, and many rock pools.”

“What floor are the bedrooms on?”

“Floor four, just below this- your bedroom has the best view.”

 Holly shakes her head. “It’s stunning.”

 “We have five days to unwind here. I'd advise you also maybe take use of the automated shiatsu massager down in the gym at some point, as well as the sauna.”

 The elevator lift dings, and Butler steps out, looking a little sweaty.

 “Artemis, I’ve unpacked our clothes. I've left your suitcase on your bed, Holly,” he says to her respectfully. “I’m going to go establish the usual parameters, and then get to preparing dinner.”

 “Shall I take you on a tour of the house?” Artemis says, and Holly grins, shaking her head.

 “I have something else in mind,” Holly says, staring out at the ocean, and Artemis sighs.

 “I’ll go put on my bathers,” he grumbles.

-

His toes clench and curl in the warm sand, and he hums.

 “If I cut my feet on a shell,” he says to Holly half heartedly, “It's your fault.”

 “Oh, shut up,” she says absently, sitting in the sand.

 He grumbles a bit but concedes the warm sand feels quite nice on his feet, contrasting against the cool ocean water. Artemis is in a pair of swimming trunks and a light weight swimming shirt, and Holly in a full coverage swimming jumpsuit. Both of them are lathered in sunscreen, and Artemis even has zinc stripes across his cheeks and chin at Holly’s insistence, much to his chagrin. 

 “I've never been swimming at the beach,” Holly confesses, staring out at the ocean with a smile. “This is really nice.”

 “Wait until you have to wash the sand from your armpits,” Artemis says grimly. 

 Holly rolls her eyes, and bends down, seemingly examining a shell at her toes. “God forbid you have to apply yourself physically,” she jokes, and then throws a whole handful of water at him. The cool shocks his warm face and he splutters, wipes the water away and glares at Holly, who is crouched low in the water, grinning.

 “ _ Must _ you,” he begins, and coughs as she splashes more water at him. “ _ Holly _ ,” he says disapprovingly, and she starts pinwheeling her arms at him. 

 “Come on,” she says. “Man versus fairy, give me your best shot.”

 He splashes at her and misses her by a full meter. 

 “Wow,” she deadpans. “You sure showed the water who’s boss.”

 This time he splashes her and smacks her right in the face; her fringe hangs over her eyes and she blinks at him.

 Artemis immediately holds up his hands. “Don't,” he says, as Holly winds up her arms in a windmill motion of increasing speed.

 “The pain train has left the station, Artemis,” she says solemnly. “Toot, toot.”

 He starts wading away but she smacks him with water until she slips on a stone pursuing him and falls flat on her backside, crying with laughter as the setting sun paints them both with gentle light.

-

The third day. The ocean stretches out beneath her, coral and fish and dappled afternoon sunlight over rolling sand dunes, and if she didn't have a scuba mask on she'd gasp.

 They're several feet below the surface, using special scuba masks Artemis collaborated on; slim lined goggles, plugs that seal up the nose (and filter oxygen) and a mouth piece, as well as special ear plugs. A turtle drifts by her, shell covered in dappled light, those eyes wide and old, briefly meeting hers.

 She stares at it, and a tap on her shoulder sends her drifting a little.

 Artemis floats next to her a little awkwardly, and she's glad he can't see her grin around the mouthpiece. His hair is all out of shape, floating around those piercing eyes, his legs and arms splayed like he's not quite sure what to do with them.

 He points further and makes the motion for “down”; Holly looks below to see a school of brightly coloured fish, and follows Artemis as he swims lower.

 Butler is up above in the boat, tracking their GPS systems and generally looking out for them, and she thinks it's a shame he doesn't get to see this.

 They sink gently and the school doesn't seem bothered, swimming around them curiously. It's so beautiful, and so quiet. Artemis brushes against her as they settle, and she looks at him again. He looks a little more relaxed than she's used to, and he meets her eyes. He can't smile with the mouthpiece, but she feels warmth in his eyes, and finds herself placing a hand on his forearm and squeezing gently. He shivers (from the cold, she assumes) and they both return to watching the fish, and Holly leaves her hand there, so he can tell her when it's time to go back up, as he's the only one with a waterproof watch.

-

It’s the final night before they leave, and Artemis sips wine and watches Holly, a towel draped around her shoulders, her hair mussed and damp. She's lazily picking at the baked potato wedges as they laze on the beach side, watching the sunset, and she licks the salt from her fingers, catlike.

 “Can we go diving tomorrow again before we head off?” she asks him, still looking at the sunset. Despite her swimsuit and sunscreen, her skin is darker brown than he's ever seen it, her usually vibrant auburn hair a darker, richer red that reminds Artemis of autumn.

 “Of course,” he says. As awkward a swimmer as he felt next to Holly’s perfect breaststroke- the color, the weightlessness, the gentle quiet of the ocean. Ever since he woke up in that rosebed he's been exercising because he needs to, but there's a gracefulness in swimming that he didn't expect, a pleasantness.

 Holly runs a hand through her hair, takes a sip from the wine. The sun touches her décolletage like a kiss and at the thought Artemis flushes.

 “You can't go diving in Haven,” Holly says. “They had a fake diving tank a couple of centuries ago apparently but fish were finally ruled as unsuitable for below ground shortly after.”

 “How did they come to that ruling?” Artemis says in interest.

 Holly looks at him, rolling her eyes. “As if you don't know,” she says.

 Artemis looks at her. “Why would I know?” he asks in confusion.

 “Well- I mean- you know pretty much everything,” Holly starts, and then stops at Artemis’s delighted grin.

“Do I really?” he asks innocently.

 She holds up a finger at him. “Don't,” she warns.

 “I’ll remember you said that,” he tells her. “But go on.”

 “Well, you know. The only Mud Man to dupe the LEP. You read our entire history and so on. I'm surprised you didn't come across that.”

 Artemis shifts a little guiltily. “Well- in my haste to… accumulate your riches, I might have read the bare minimum history and culture required to extort you.”

 “Oh, that’s real nice,” Holly says.

 Artemis shrugs. “I wasn't a nice kid, as we well know.”

 “Fish were the last above ground animals to be banned from the underground,” Holly says, swirling the ice cubes in her glass with her finger. “The High Court came to the ruling that despite fish having a low IQ and so on, it was cruel to keep fish out of their natural habitat.”

 “So there's no pets at all in Haven?”

 “A few- mainly toads, some genetically engineered breeds of bats. There's hardly any animals down there full stop.”

 “So how does the ecosystem work?” Artemis says, his mind ticking. “Is everything completely automated?”

 “Mmhm. You forget- we grow our own food, purify our own water. We don't need animals to help with that.”

 Artemis shakes his head. “I'm not exactly an animal person but that sounds so homogenous-”

 “Not to most fairies- most of them have never seen above ground animals in real life, and they've grown up without them.”

 “Doesn’t that bother them?”

 “You can't miss what you don't have. The closest we had were unicorns, but they died out long ago.”

 “They were the ancestors of centaurs, weren't they?”

 “In the way that the modern monkey is the ancestor of humans,” Holly allows.

 “I was under the impression they were as intelligent as centaurs?”

 “Yep.”

 “What happened to them?”

 Holly stares at her glass. “A thousand years or so ago, an epidemic rushed Haven. It was brutal- similar to the Black Plague, you could say. It was only unicorns that were affected though, and centaurs by proxy- by the time we produced a cure, it was only centaurs left.” She sips at her water. “Their population is still recovering even now.”

 “Where did the disease come from?”

 “I don't know,” she admits. “Sorry, Artemis- it's recorded somewhere for certain but I didn't take Unicorn History  in college. You should ask Foaly, he would know all about it.”

 Artemis hums. “So centaur children are highly revered, I assume?”

 Holly nods. “Foaly is very proud.”

 “That explains why he doesn't shut up about them,” he says dryly.

 “I don’t think that has much to do with his pride,” Holly grins. “More to do with him as a person.”

 “True,” Artemis allows. They fall into silence, and Artemis marvels at how comfortable they are, how relaxed. 

 Holly finishes the wedges and starts making a sand castle. Her smaller fingers are perfect for the job, and soon the castle takes delicate shape. Artemis recognises the architectural base immediately as Fowl Manor.

 “I didn’t know you were a sculptor,” he says teasingly.

 “You don’t know a lot about me,” she replies with a mysterious little smile.

 “Is that so?” he smiles, resting his hand in his chin.

 “I’ll tell you about my sordid past as an art student if you help me with the manor,” she says, patting the sand next to her.

 Artemis wrinkles his nose and delicately lowers himself down.

 “The things I do for information,” he grumbles. “Give me the lowdown, Commander.”

 “Aye aye, captain,” Holly mutters. “Right away sir.”

 He rolls his eyes and she rolls them right back.

 “Your sordid past, Holly? I didn’t lower myself to your level- literally!- just for a free sand exfoliation.”

 “I did sculpting at college,” Holly says. “I was pretty good at it too.”

 “What sort of sculpting?”

 She shrugs. “Whatever took my fancy. Sometimes still life, sometimes fairies, sometimes abstracts.” 

 “And yet here you are,” Artemis gestures. “The face of the law.”

 “Hardly,” she scoffs. “But yes. Here I am.”

 “What made the change?” he says gently.

 She shrugs. “My mother,” she says a little shortly, and the tone of their conversation changes just like that. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me build this thing?”

 “Of course,” Artemis says smoothly, and they leave that conversation there, like one of many shells along the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! between travelling working and studying i finally got my shit together and finished this chapter. thanks for the lovely comments and your patience guys :) :) :)


	5. strolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut rags, a stroll in florence, and stubborn dirt

Holly peers out from beneath her wide brimmed hat at the sun, the rolling fields, mouth opening- the crumbling stone, the birds against the sky. Butler unloads their suit cases and Artemis is speaking quickly into his phone.

 They're in a little stretch of countryside in Florence, a homely villa before them, and Holly is looking for the hotel Artemis surely paid thousands to book but no, just a cute little cottage lush with overgrown vines, and oh but already she's in love with Italy.

 “Oh, good,” Artemis says. “It's been kept well. Father will be pleased.”

 “This is your father’s?” she says in surprise.

 “It's been passed down through the family. I've spent a couple of autumns here,” he says fondly, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let the chique rundown look deceive you- each piece of artfully chosen furniture costs more than the plane we flew in on.”

 “Of course,” Holly mutters.

 “You go show Holly around,” Butler says, unloading the luggage. “I’ll need to go check the power and so on after this.”

 Artemis squeezes her shoulder lightly and takes his hand away, crossing over the charming cobblestone footpath. He takes out a key ring, and selects a superbly worn key.

 “Not exactly modern tech,” Holly comments, lightly skipping across the cobblestones to meet him. 

 Artemis smiles at her, shaking the key ring. “Don't be deceived,” he says, and unlocks the door. He lingers there, seemingly running his hand along the door, but Holly looks a little closer and sees he's carefully pressing little sections, twisting those elegant fingers ever so slightly; that battered panel at eye level seems a tiny bit more shiny than the others, and Artemis looks at it without blinking.

 “Impressive,” she says, as he opens the door.

 “Perceptive as usual,” he says.

  “I like that it's built into the door,” she offers. 

 He taps it affectionately. “It's the original- took several months to carefully install all the electronics. Father loves it. But enough shop talk, let me show you the site of many a summer getaway.”

 She steps past him into the cottage, and her heart swells.

 “Oh,” she says.

 “Articulate as ever,” Artemis says, and is he  _ teasing _ , that gentle warmth in his voice?

  The cottage is warm and light, ceilings deceptively high, deep and dark floor boards, exposed brick, lush carpet. It's so familiar somehow, something in the gentle colors and the softness, but she can't place it. Colourful and soft abstract art adorns the walls, and she thinks of her apartment, sharp and modern.

 “I’d tell you the history of each piece, the style of architecture, but somehow I know Mud Men architectural history doesn't interest you,” Artemis says behind her, taking his jacket off. His words aren't biting, just factual. She turns around to see him carefully rolling his sleeves up a little, exposing his pale wrists. Butler comes in through the doorway, wheeling Holly’s suitcase in.

 “In the main bedroom,” Artemis instructs Butler absently, adjusting his lapels. “I’ll be taking the guest room with you, Butler.”

 “The main bedroom?” 

 “Nothing but the best for you, Commander,” Artemis says. Butler disappears back outside, and Holly continues to cast her gaze up and around, taking in the awnings, the fireplace. 

  “It's so nice,” Holly says, at a loss.

  “Nicer now I’ve finally gotten Father to dispose of the god awful stuffed animal carcasses,” Artemis remarks in distaste. “Honestly, whoever decided  _ hunting _ was the sport of rich men,” he says, striding into the kitchen. She follows him, and is surprised by how timeless the kitchen is- brick work and cast iron. Artemis is opening the cupboards, checking the fridge. “Even the thought of slipping into hunting jodhpurs and blowing into a hunting horn gives me hives,” he continues.  

 “Yes,” Holly intones dryly, “curse the Mud Man who picked hunting animals over antiquing as the national sport of rich people.”

 Artemis looks at her, unimpressed, before turning back to the fridge. It's fully stocked with fresh fruits, cheeses, freshly baked breads, pesto, jams- it's packed to bursting and it all looks extremely tasty.

 “Hmm,” he says, closing it in Holly’s hungry face, leaving the room. Holly follows him out into a small little corridor when she finds him lifting up a trapdoor neatly built into the wooden flooring, revealing a set of stone stairs.

 “Was this your plan all along?” Holly grins. “Lure me into the dungeon and keep me trapped?”

 Artemis scoffs. “Please, Holly. I tried that once and had to drug my family to get out of the resulting mess.”

 He descends into the cellar, and she follows, laughing, careful on the Mud Man sized steps, and gapes at the huge cellar, with at least a hundred bottles of wine. Maybe two, maybe three hundred, even.

 “That’s a lot of wine,” she says to him.

 He raises an eyebrow. “For someone who doesn't drink wine, perhaps. In any case, I'm simply checking the cellar is maintaining the right temperature.”

 “It’s chilly in here,” she notes. “Maybe you should knit little jumpers for all the bottles.”

 He gives her a Look and she grins as he checks the little metal display on the wall and then follows him back up.

 The rustic looking clock tells her it's three in the afternoon and she looks longingly at the fridge as Artemis leads her outside.

 “I’ll feed you in a minute,” he says to her. “I just thought you would enjoy the view, first.”

 She does, of course. The house is on the edge of the hill, light sloping gently over it, over the fields nearby. She’s a little stuck on her stomach, though.

 “Oh, alright,” Artemis says when her stomach gives a despairing rumble, and they head back inside.

-

A hand around his throat and dying flowers in his nose and his eyes fly open, cold sweat down his neck. Artemis lies in bed staring at the ceiling before quietly heading to the kitchen.

 He’s not sure what he's doing until he opens the cellar door and picking out a bottle of wine, on autopilot, and he stands there, heavy, dusty bottle in hand and he stares at the wine with the surprise of a baby lacking the concept of object impermanence.

_ Be careful _ , some part of him warns. He knows though, that a glass or two would put him to sleep, solid and dreamless, that the tannins would flush the flowers from his sinuses.

 He stares at the bottle for a very long time, hand shaking more and more until he takes it back up with him, picking out a small glass, decanting, pouring. He ties his dressing gown firmly around him and takes the glass to the weathered wooden chairs outside beneath the stars. They're beautiful and accusatory as he forces himself to sip slowly.

 Somewhere near by, Holly sleeps, and isn't that the oddest thought? His mortal enemy now taking a Europe holiday with him. He remembers the sun dusting her face, how she looked younger and freer as they went scuba diving, weightless and ethereal.

Artemis remembers something then, that image of a younger Holly- something about lemurs, and ungodly tracksuit pants.

 Strange. He takes another sip, hoping to coax the memory out, but it stays there at the edge of his reach.

 He frowns and goes to take another sip- except the glass is empty.

“Artemis?”

 He nearly drops the glass in surprise but turns to face Holly calmly, as if him drinking wine at two in the morning by himself is a regular occurrence.

 She looks at him. “Everything okay?”

 He shrugs. “I couldn't sleep. Thought I might read and have a glass of wine to try and relax.”

 Holly looks at him searchingly but doesn't press him, seemingly unconcerned.  

 “My elf ears heard you clanking around in the cellar,” she explains, crossing her arms and rubbing them for warmth. Artemis can't help but notice her nipples are hard from the cold through her pyjama top and he’s mortified that he even looked.

 “Yes- well- better get back to my book, I guess,” he says in a barely contained splutter and heads back inside, ears burning.

 “What are you reading?” She asks, so he veers towards the bookshelf and picks out a book at random. 

 “This,” he says, “I've been meaning to get back to it for a while.”

 Holly looks at it. 

“I wouldn't have picked you for smut,” she says with a grin. He looks at it and lo and behold it's one of his mother's favourite bodice rippers, a woefully helpless girl and an appallingly chiselled man on the cover.

 “We all have our guilty pleasures,” he says, embarrassed, and his voice comes out rough in it, trying to keep a straight place. Holly blinks at him.

 “Well, uh,” she says awkwardly. “I better get back to sleep.”

 “Me too,” he says, eager to both put this behind them and put this forsaken paper rag back in the book shelf.

 “I thought you were going to read?” she says in confusion.

 “Right you are,” Artemis says bracingly. “I was actually going to bring it back to bed.”

 “Won’t that wake up Butler?”

 “I have one of those portable reading lights,” he says, inching closer to his bedroom door.

  “Oh. Well, good night,” she says.

 “Good night Holly,” he mumbles, and escapes into his room.

-

“ _ A Man among Men? _ Wasn't this your mother's book, Artemis?”

“How should I know, Butler?”

-

The wide brimmed hat perhaps makes her seem like a child, for she barely attracts any glances as she peeks through the crowds, the sounds, the noises. 

 The Mud Men have always been boorish to her, the rare diamonds covered by rough, coarse,  _ selfish _ mud. And yet. She sees travellers, tourists, workers, residents, chefs and blacksmiths and carvers, merry and simple and vivid.

 The evening sun is like the works of art they saw today in  _ Galleria degli Uffizi _ , like Botticelli’s light, gentle and deft and impeccable. Artemis whispering history and culture and art in her ears against the reverent silence of the gallery and she mourns that her people, rich in culture and art as they are, will never match the Mud Man’s drive to accomplish greatness in the short time they have on the Earth.

 Even the statues seemed alive, merely frozen in motion, frozen in emotion, like they would leap at any moment. Even the art depicting ugliness only Mud Men were capable of were beautiful, and Holly finds that terrifying.

 Now, they wander through  _ Oltrarno _ , an intimate system of streets in Florence; Holly leading them as she darts from stall to stall, tasting, watching. She can feel Butler’s reassuring presence behind her, a secure, protective monolith; she can smell his faint cologne, the sharp edge of cedar wood and pine. Artemis is at her 7 o’clock, following after her bemusedly. He’s had a little to drink at their lunch which still hasn't worn off, roses in his cheeks, and he follows her lead bemusedly but with a smile; he tastes the things she tastes, examines the things she examines. He looks at home somehow, his trousers and loose white shirt making him a softer man, edges not so sharp with gold.

  She stops to examine the smithwork of an old woman making elegant rings, the ripples running from her eyes like ripples in a pond. The lustre of gold draws her in, rich and butter mellow. Artemis brushes behind her, and she feels him lean in.

 “Superb craftsmanship,” he says softly in English to her. His breath smells like lemon gelato. “Notice the  _ basse-taille _ ? Reminiscent of Bellini’s early work.”

 “You two are young to be marrying,” the old woman says in croaky in English. Holly raises an eyebrow.

 “I should be so lucky,” Artemis replies in smooth Italian. “We are merely tourists.”

 “Do any of my wares catch your eye?”

 Artemis hums. Holly finds her eyes drawn to a pair of simple but elegant earrings, fine filigree and warmly shining. 

 “Angelica would like those,” she says.

 “You're absolutely right,” Artemis says. “How much for them?”

 “A thousand Euros,” the old lady says. “My work is fine, old as I am.”

 Artemis pays her and she wraps them, hands steady as Holly's have ever been, and Artemis tucks the box into his inner jacket pocket.

 “Should we get your father something?” she asks as they continue on, stopping to try an elegant looking pastry steeped in powdery white sugar.

 “I’ll know his gift when I see it,” Artemis says. “Also, you have powder  _ all _ over your face.”

 Holly tries licking it off, and Artemis exhales in exasperation. “No, it's here-” he reaches out as if to touch her face but stops himself. She can feel the warmth of his finger tips, and he clears his throat, running those fingers through his hair. She rubs the sugar off and Butler joins them.

 “I'm starving,” he says. “I've been eyeing a restaurant nearby, shall we eat?”

 “Sounds good,” Holly says, her stomach rumbling even as she says it, brushing the sugar off her hands. Artemis runs his hands through his hair again, uncharacteristic, and nods. “That sounds agreeable,” he says simply, glancing at the sugar on her fingers, the roses of wine in his cheeks.

-

The car is gorgeous and old and the curves make Holly think of that period in the 1700’s when Haven was going through its space age chic, all those bright rich colors and gleaming equipment.

 They’re driving home from a quiet winery (“one of the best in the world,” Artemis had gently told her when she started unimpressed at all the old equipment in the vineyards) and Holly is so pleasantly full and tipsy she finds herself nodding off to sleep, and her head falls onto Artemis’s arm.

  Artemis stares down at her, at the little brown star of skin on the back of her skull where her deep auburn hair grows out in lazy waves. He feels, quite abruptly, very helpless. 

 “Angelina will be pleased we restocked some of the cellar,” Butler says amiably. “I know she’s been missing that ‘72 pinot.”

 “Mm,” Artemis hums noncommittally, still staring down at Holly. 

 “Everything okay back there?” Butler asks.

 “Yes,” Artemis says, as Holly shifts a little, snoring slightly. “Yes. Everything’s okay.”

-

Butler sleeps in, and Artemis and Holly walk through the countryside, the morning sun warm and lovely, fresh fruit and bread in their bellies.

“So,” Artemis says. “How are you liking Florence?”

“A lot,” Holly says. “It’s so peaceful. Safe. How were your autumns here?”

Artemis smiles. “Mother would insist on driving everywhere. She always wore her hair done up in a scarf with these overly large sunglasses. Dad always used to disappear- for business, of course- and she and I would make our way through the wineries, sampling all the different foods and wines.”

 “You were drinking wine?”

 “A little sip. Italian children try wine from an early age. Statistically, they actually grow up less likely to be alcoholics.”

 “Alcoholism isn’t so much an issue in Haven. Sim-wine is non addictive by design.”

 “How on earth do they manage that?”

 “Another question for Foaly,” Holly advises him. 

 “Hmm. I’ll add it to the list,” Artemis says, and then trips over on an exposed tree root, landing flat on his face.

“Oh dear,” Holly says, only laughing a little, as Artemis looks up at her, brushing the dirt from his once immaculate hair. He starts pushing himself up, stopping to brush the dirt from his cardigan. “You’ve got a little here,” she says, efficiently brushing some stubborn dirt from his chest. When he's kneeling, she's close to his height, an angle he's not used to seeing. Her fingers are warm even through the thick wool, and he can smell the strawberries on her breath from here, see the little dry patch of skin on her cheek and the dusting of dark freckles against her rich brown skin, several scars along her nose and eyebrows and jaw, one bisecting her upper lip. 

_ Oh _ , Artemis thinks, as she frowns down at the speck of dirt on his jumper, mumbling something about how she’s not going to hear the end of his jumper being stained now for several days all because she just wanted to go for a walk, and his head rings with that inarticulate word.

 “It’s a lost cause, sorry,” she says. “Maybe get Butler to use his man hands to scrub it a little.”

 “One doesn’t  _ scrub _ wool, Commander,” Artemis says half heartedly, staring at the scar on her lip. 

 She lifts her hands up in surrender. “Well ex- _ cuse _ me, Mud Boy. Anyway, we better get heading back so we can wait Butler up.”

 “Of course,” he says briskly, setting off on a walk, as if his head isn’t ringing, and feels Holly’s bemused stare.

_ Oh. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the wait guys- between 30 hours of work and 20 of uni a week, i'm Dying, Squirtle. it's a bit shorter than I wanted, but felt it was the right moment to end it.


	6. sherry and icecream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweet things, sherry, legs legs legs

Artemis sits and watches Holly. She’s intent on consuming the bag of pastries set before her, picking out each individual _bunuelos de viento_ with delight.

 They’re in Banyoles, the Spanish countryside. The two of them sit alongside the lake, the mid afternoon sun warm on their faces. A gentle breeze tousles Holly’s hair, patterns of light shifting on her face through the trees.

 They’ve spent their first day without Butler ambling through Banyoles, enjoying the ambience and the food; tonight, Artemis will drive them back to Girona in their loan car (he needs the practice), where they’ll stay the night and then take a private flight up to La Rochelle, on the east coast of France.

 It’s odd walking around without Butler’s presence, without a gentle mountain of a man keeping them safe. Artemis rarely spends a day without him, and feels exposed.

 And yet, with Holly beside him, sucking sugar off her fingertips, he feels safe.

 “Where to next?” she asks him, finishing off the last pastry.

 Artemis hums, watching the water ripple. The breeze runs through his hair, and the sun is gentle on his hands. “I’m quite content to sit for a bit longer.”

 Holly folds the pastry bag into a neat square. “Feels weird without Butler, huh?”

 Artemis notices an odd tone to her voice, and he isn’t sure how to interpret it, instantly remembering her trepidation about travelling alone with him.

 “It feels…”

 “It feels like my six isn’t covered,” Holly says wryly, drinking from a bottle of sparkling mineral water.

 Artemis smiles. “Exactly. Not that we have anything to worry about, of course.”

 “For you, maybe,” Holly mutters, checking her hat is covering her ears. “I’m a walking mythological marvel for your people.”

 “Not to mention a fairy as well,” Artemis teases, before he can stop himself. She looks at him in surprise, and he looks away; they lapse into silence.

-

Holly doesn’t know how to take this oddness, this softer Artemis Fowl, who pulls the car over at sunset on a hill overlooking the countryside.

 “Won’t we be late?” Holly asks him.

 Artemis raises a brow. “I’m sure somehow, they’ll find it in their heart to forgive a rich heir.”

 She rolls her eyes as he pulls up the handbrake and gets out of the car.

 “In any case,” he continues, “I made the reservations for late evening. We have plenty of time.” Artemis gestures out at the scene in front of them.  “Glorious,” he declares. She climbs out and joins him, jumping up to sit up on the car bonnet. For a split second, he looks at her with a frown and she lines up remarks to sass him. But the frown melts into a little quirk of the mouth, and he looks back at the sweeping tableau before them, all thick strokes of light and color.

 “It reminds me of some of the great Impressionist art,” Artemis muses.

 “Monet’s work in particular,” Holly says casually, and revels in Artemis’s raised eyebrow, the purse of his mouth.

 “Which work are you thinking of?” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

 She glares at him. “Monet’s _Grainstack (Sunset)_ in particular. Painted in 1891, if my memory serves me correctly.”

 “You’ve actually been listening to me,” Artemis says in awe that’s only half sardonic.

 “Well, sometimes, when the stars align, you say things that are interesting,” Holly replies dryly, and Artemis laughs.

 “Is that so?” He says fondly. It turns his usual smooth baritone into something deeper, softer.

 “One day, I’ll take you to the galleries in Haven,” Holly says. “Not the shitty post modern ones, either, the proper classical ones.”

 “You don’t like modern art?” Artemis says, surprised. And then he catches himself- “Ah. I forget you trained in classical sculpture.”

 “I don’t _dislike_ it,” Holly argues, glancing at him. “It’s just… a lot. Lots of edgy avant garde nonsense with very little substance. Lots of things related to the Mud People, and living underground.”

 “Is the People’s classical art anything like ours?” Artemis asks in interest, turning to face her fully.

 “Some of it,” Holly says. “Your classics are very much like our modern art was, around the same era.”

 “You call the 1600’s modern?” Artemis chuckles “Weren’t the LEP wearing buckled shoes around then?”

 “We live a long time,” Holly says. “And don’t remind me about those shoes.”

 “So what does post-modern art entail for Havenites?”

 “Lots of technological installations,” Holly replies flatly. “Usually VR stuff. Sometimes interactive physically things, but those are rare. I don’t mind those so much.”

 Artemis says, very lightly, “My goodness, Commander Short. You’re an art snob.”

 Holly punches him in the arm.

-

  _Hotel Ciutat de Girona_ is not the usual thousand dollar per night hotel Artemis is used to, but nonetheless, it’ll do. Holly remarks on how it reminds her of Trouble’s home.

 “Big and fancy,” she says dryly.

 “Wouldn’t your new apartment be the same?” Artemis asks, unpacking on his bed as she leans in the doorway to his room. They’re sharing a small apartment, and both have their own ensuite.

 “I don’t see the point in having a big apartment when it’s just me,” Holly points out.

 Artemis grins. “Oh, so yours is just fancy, then?”

 “After saving the world several times, I think I deserve a nice bathroom,” is her modest response, and she leaves to go to the kitchen.

 Artemis returns his focus to taking out the few things he’ll need before they move on tomorrow. Their dinner reservations are at half past eight and they have a couple of hours to kill. As he picks out a shirt for dinner, he thinks again, again, again of how Holly had looked, fussing at his jumper. His heart is light, but his stomach is heavy.

 Artemis knows what this is, this feeling. Infatuation, attraction, but growing fast like a flower-

 God, but he can’t. _They_ can’t. Not the two of them, so different, chalk and cheese. When Holly pops her head in, mouth bulging with crackers, hair messy, it’s almost painful the way his mouth ticks into a smile, how he feels his face soften.

 “You’ll spoil your dinner,” he admonishes her, swallowing that sentiment he feels bubbling beneath his sternum.

 Holly rolls her eyes and swallows, wiping the crumbs from her face. “Is this appropriate for the restaurant?” she asks in a tone he’s never heard from her. She steps out from behind the wall, and _oh_ , did Marie have her measure when she made Holly’s travelling wardrobe.

 It’s a fitted, cocktail dress style playsuit, a deep rich cream color with gold accented flower embroidery trawling up the arms and across the waist. The long sleeves hug her strong arms, and the waist flares out into attractively cute pleated shorts. It’s practical, elegant, an outfit Holly can freely move in.

 Artemis fights to keep his eyes on her face. Her dark skin seems to glow next to that cream fabric, the turtleneck accentuating her neck, and her _legs_ , thick and muscled and long and tucked into a pair of sensible gold French heels-

 Artemis swallows, trying to focus. Holly does a sarcastic sort of spin, and his fingers clench into the shirt he’s unfolding.

 “It isn’t too short, is it?” she says, and now he recognises that tone of voice. It’s shyness. That fondness ticks his lips up.

 “It’s fine,” he assures her, ever the picture of understatement.

 Holly looks a little dubious. “I don’t dress up very often,” she muses. “It’s… nice.” And then she strikes a macho pose, the fabric across her arms bulging as she flexes. “Plus, I can easily beat someone up with all this room to move.”

 At this Artemis fights to maintain a normal face, flashes of Bond-girl esque fight scenes in his head.

 “Shall we go get a drink before dinner?” he suggests through a dry mouth.

 “Sounds good,” Holly says easily.

 “I’m just going to get changed,” he tells her, and he closes the door behind her. His throat is thick, goosebumps running down his arms, as he picks out a pair of pants, loafers, a shirt, a jacket, his mind is racing and he takes deep long breaths, focusing very very hard on thinking of anything other than how Holly’s waist would feel beneath his hand.

  _Careful, Artemis,_ he tells himself, and it sounds - of course - just like Butler.

-

They walk down the bridge across to _La Tusca_ , a cute little restaurant that does good drinks, apparently. Holly is feeling more at ease than she ever has in girly clothes, and then she notices people are looking at her, eyes tracking up and down her form as she walks by.

 The safe feeling leaves, and she immediately takes Artemis’s forearm. Surprised, her looks down at her.

 “Are you okay?” he says in a low voice.

 “People are looking at me,” Holly says, worried, and Artemis _laughs._

“Holly,” he says, in a tone of mild exasperation. “Why do you think they’re looking at you?”

 “I don’t know,” Holly mutters, hands fluttering to check her hair. “Can they see my ears?”

 They pass a window, and Artemis very gently places his hand on her shoulder, turning her to her reflection.

 “Holly, look at yourself,” he says gently.

 She stares at her reflection, at this person she doesn’t know. She hadn’t even looked in a mirror after she got changed, she hardly ever _does_ , her focus on function rather than form.

 But this woman in front of her- this beautiful, strong, elegant woman, taller than she’s used to, that small waist, those big, mismatched eyes.

“They’re looking at you because you look beautiful,” Artemis says, and her eyes flicker to his reflection; to his immaculately styled hair, the dip of his open shirt, how now she reaches his shoulder. How he looks… older than she remembers.

 He isn’t lying, either. She knows very well now, how Artemis looks when he lies. But he’s just looking down at her, those slim fingers warm on her shoulder.

 Holly gently pulls herself away from him, and he lets her go.

 “There’s nothing to worry about,” he says.

 Holly squints at her reflection.

 “I suppose not,” she says eventually, and they continue on their way, the sounds of the city washing over them, beating against her thoughts like the gentle ocean swell.

 The moment Holly entered the LEP, she never allowed herself to focus on her looks, on her femininity, to the point where she actively rebelled against it. In her youth, she rarely focused on fashion, on looking pretty, but the day she slipped her uniform on was the day she severed any connection to her femininity. It was a necessity, to get as far as she has. Female cadets coming through now _can_ have long hair, _can_ do their makeup without comment, because of the path she paved for them. She doesn’t begrudge them it, but it’s been many years since Holly really saw herself as anything other than Holly Short, LEP officer. Now, this beauty- it feels uncomfortable. Embarrassing. Shameful. A mix of emotions she doesn’t understand. She wishes, suddenly, she had her uniform on, and her blaster on her hip.

 At the bar, she feels those gazes on her again. Mud Men in particular, staring at her in that dim light. A couple of women as well, but shyer. Holly forgets that the Mud People have long to go in regards to sexuality and gender; when she catches the female bartender looking at her, the woman, blushes, looks away in shame.

 These people… find her _attractive_.

 Artemis reclaims her attention as he returns from the bar with two glasses of deep caramel wine, and proffers it to her.  “A glass of sherry- G _onzalez Byass Elegante Amontillado_ ,” he tells her. “Go on, try it.”

 She does. It tastes like caramel and nuts, oaky. She makes a noise of delight.

 “Of course you like sherry,” Artemis says, watching her smack her lips.

 “Why wouldn’t I?” she says, savouring another sip.

 “No reason. It’s just… very you.”

 They chat for a while, about Juliet and the twins, about the vegetables Holly helped along, about Section Eight’s latest endeavours. And as the hour goes on, and Holly gets to her second glass, warm and bright, the thought occurs to her as Artemis talks about ways Section Eight could assist in making Haven more comfortable, more topside-like for its inhabitants.

 The thought is straightforward, sticking in her breastbone: When Artemis looks at her, who does he see?

 “Holly?” Artemis says gently, bringing her back to the present.

 “Sorry,” she says quickly.

 “Shall we go get dinner?” he asks, and she nods.

 As they leave the restaurant, late night crowds coming in make the exit a tight squeeze. Artemis’s hand drifts to her lower back to make sure no one shoves her, his hand slotting so neatly, so warmly, against the curve of her spine

 Holly puts her unsteadiness down to her two glass of wine.

-

After their dinner, full and happy and tipsy, they amble back to the hotel. It’s very late in the evening now, shops beginning to close up. On a whim, they stop for sorbet. Holly gets chocolate; Artemis gets passionfruit. He watches her lick her fingers clean as it runs down the side of the cone, the chocolate darkly staining her lips.

 “Careful,” he says suddenly, wiping a perilous drop of sorbet off the side that would have fallen onto her playsuit. Licking it off his thumb, he can’t help but notice when she flushes a little, looking away.

 “So,” she says. “France, huh?”

 “Indeed,” he says. “We’ll be there for a week or so, and staying with Minerva for some of it. I think you’ll quite enjoy it.”

 “I hope Minerva’s grown up a little,” she mutters, and Artemis grins.

 “She’s the picture of maturity these days,” he assures her.

 “Good,” Holly says flatly.

 “Her girlfriend is very lovely, I’m sure you’ll get along with her.”

 “Does she know?” Holly says hesitantly.

 “That I took you hostage and that we’ve saved the world several times over?” Artemis smiles. “No. Nor does she know that you’re anything more than a human with an unusual genetic disorder.”

 “What if she sees my ears?” Holly asks anxiously. With the icecream gone, she starts biting her way through the waffle cone.

 “If she does,” Artemis says, “It will be very easy to explain off as a cosmetic treatment.”

 “You’re telling me that humans getting cosmetic surgery for pointy ears is common?” She says dryly.

 Artemis shrugs. “It’s not unheard of. Maybe you got it done in your youth, like most young people get tattoos. Maybe you regret it, and that’s why you’re so secretive about it.”

 “And why don’t I just get the operation reversed?” she challenges him, finishing the last bite of her cone. She’s suddenly right in front of him, swaying a little, hands on her hips.

 “Complications,” Artemis says smoothly. “The operation wasn’t done correctly.

 She grunts. “You’re determined to make me look like a fool, aren’t you?”

 “You never look like a fool,” he says sincerely, and a drop of his icecream falls right on her nose as he lifts the cone up to take a lick.

 It starts running down onto her cheek, and she glares at him, unaware that he’s thinking extremely inappropriate thoughts about how her skin would taste beneath it.

 Artemis offers her his napkin instead, and her glare turns into a laugh as she carefully wipes her face.

 When they get back to the hotel, they both adjourn to their seperate rooms to clean up for the evening, which is how Artemis comes find himself moaning into his forearm as he touches himself, the water running hot and warm down his back, bucking into his hand like an eager, starved animal, the nip of Holly’s waist, the length of her bare legs, her eyes-.

 He comes and quietly, quickly washes himself, knees feeling weak.

  _Be careful, Artemis_.

 He pulls his pyjamas on and goes to knock on Holly’s door, as if he didn’t just masturbate to the thought of her.

“Hold on,” she calls from inside, and opens the door a couple of seconds later, scrubbed clean and sleepy.

 “I’ve set my alarm for nine o’clock,” he tells her, watching her hair drip down onto her shoulder. She towels it absently, looking up at him. “Plenty of time for breakfast before we go.”

 “Sounds good,” she says. “I’ll set mine for the same.”

 “Goodnight,” Artemis says after a beat, and she smiles at him.

 “Goodnight,” she echoes, and closes the door once more.

 He stands there for a couple of seconds before he goes back to his room, and slips into bed. Sleep comes for him slowly, as he lays there, trying not to think about this thing that’s blossomed in his heart, roots digging in deep.

 When he finally sleeps, Artemis, of course, thinks of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh thank you all for your patience!!! I was hard at work finishing off another one of my fics (for the video game Sly 2, if anyone here plays it!). now that it's done, i returned to this after a while of not really being sure where to go with this fic. this really is a playing it by chapter, tbh- very self indulgent slow burn stuff, so i'm glad y'all are enjoying it!!!
> 
> i also want to make it very clear regarding holly's thoughts about femininity- that will be a huge factor in this fic, but NOT in a "artemis makes her feel beautiful and mansplains her problems" sort of way. rather, artemis inadvertently helps her realise she has some internalised misogyny going on that she needs to address, and that being feminine is Okay, and does not make her weak or ineffective. we do see this across the series- holly being dismissive of pretty girls enjoying being feminine. it is addressed briefly in memory in regards to her pushing the envelope as a female officer, though we can of course put this down to the series being written by a man for children (good as his characters might be). i think it's a really interesting part of holly's character. does this mean holly will suddenly be full face contouring and wearing High Fashion when she's not in uniform? no (LMAO), but its going to be an important part of her growth in this story. 
> 
> I haven't forgotten the ptsd i've been setting up for our boy arty, but i thought it was best this chapter kind of dealt with the previous chapters Really Obvious 'im in love' moment. but the drinking problem is going to come back, i assure u lmao
> 
> in this fic, these are all real places btw!!!! google map it if you want :) also after some thinking about artemis's look, this is pretty close to how i picture him ( https://i.pinimg.com/736x/60/d8/bc/60d8bc0c2181e62c59ddaaef47775bff--errol-flynn-classic-movies.jpg ) if maybe a little more pretty and young- a classic errol flynn kind of hair cut and face. i'm also a huge fan of the fancasting of lupita nyong'o as holly!!! ( https://i.pinimg.com/564x/8c/be/83/8cbe835141a3440a952c06d2d0152218--twa-styles-black-is-beautiful.jpg ) so if ur ever wandering how i'm seeing these guys.. there u r...
> 
> next chapter won't be as long i promise!! im keen to bring minerva into it. im eventually going to have foaly and mulch etc reappear, but at the moment, behind the scenes, artemis has told them holly needs a break from everything and they agree.
> 
> thanks again for all your lovely comments!!!


	7. hangover & sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feelings start to emerge and blossom. it's an uncomfortable experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the wait guys! I'm having some health issues that make it hard to sit at the computer for too long at the moment, so hopefully this doesn't read too disjointed! thanks as usual for the lovely comments and kudos :)

“I thought we were going to Paris?” Holly asks bemusedly, peering out the window as the highway signs directing travellers ultimately bound for Paris sweep by. Artemis is taking them on a scenic north-eastern arc along France’s south eastern coastline, and her eyes are full of the sea.

 Artemis shakes his head. “I’ve seen Paris more times than I can count-” (Holly rolls her eyes) “-and besides, Minerva lives in the countryside- Figeac, to be exact.” 

 Holly examines the GPS system in built into the hire car, taking her legs off the dashboard.

They’ve been driving on and off for the past day, lazily winding their way across the border between Spain and France, stopping every now and then to examine a particularly lovely view. Artemis drives much like she expected; carefully, elegantly, both hands on the wheel, even though the car is made for speed. 

 “Three more hours?” She groans after reading the travel time, flopping back into the seat. “How aren’t you dying of boredom?”

 Artemis spares her a glance. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

 “I don’t want to sleep,” she protests. She’s so well rested from long nights spent in soft beds that it takes her a full day of walking to get rid of the bounces in her system. 

 Artemis rolls his eyes, but it’s a soft sort of look, electing to keep his eyes on the road.

 “So, tell me about Minerva and her girlfriend,” Holly tries, grasping for ways to pass the time. 

 They’re at a point in their trip now where nostalgia and discussions of their shared past have trickled dry; conversation turns to both intimate and day to day topics, and, to Holly’s distaste, the odd silence. Artemis seems perfectly at ease in these moments, but Holly was made to move, to soar, her muscles clenching in pent up energy.

 Artemis hums. “I think I should leave it up to the two of them, to be honest. They love telling the story of how they met.”

 “You’re really determined to kill me with boredom, aren’t you?” Holly sighs, staring out the open window.

 “Do you really loathe silence so much?” Artemis asks, raising a brow.

 “It’s awkward,” Holly says bluntly. “I don’t like it.”

 “Awkward?” Artemis echoes, and Holly thinks for a second she hears an odd tone to his voice. “I disagree. An awkward silence is  when you walk in on Juliet and her latest conquest quite enthusiastically, as they say,  _ going at it _ .”

 Holly chokes out a laugh. “When was this?”

 “When I had just… woken up.” Artemis pauses for a second, clears his throat. “I got lost in the mansion and accidentally opened the door to the spare bedroom.”

 “Oof,” Holly says solemnly.

 “Quite,” Artemis says. “It didn’t help that they were role playing at the time.”

 Holly scrunches up her face.

 “She was wearing her old wrestling mask,” Artemis adds, and Holly feels the tips of her ears go bright red, even as she laughs, spluttering some of the water she just took a sip of.

 “Unfortunate,” Holly manages, the image all too clear in her head. She laughs through the hand clapped to her mouth, and looks at Artemis the same moment he looks at her, lips stretched in a chuckle.

 Their eyes meet and Holly’s ears are still red, her hand still over her mouth, that crude but amusing image turning into something else now, something softer, different people, with matching (mismatched) eyes.

 Holly looks away. Artemis returns his own gaze to the road.

 

-

 

Despite her protesting, she does eventually fall asleep after half an hour of Artemis’s “Relaxing Jazz Playlist”. He pulls over about half an hour later again to get up and stretch his legs, walk up and down a bit. He does all the recommended exercises, checks the tires’ treads, and climbs back into the driver’s seat. Holly is still asleep, head against the window, mouth agape. She looks, to put it delicately ridiculous, and he can’t stop the smile breaking across his face like the waves against the shore. Artemis runs a hand through his hair and leans against the wheel, thirsty for a strong drink.

_ This will end badly, _ he tells himself calmly, sternly.  _ If Holly finds out- _

_  So what if she finds out?  _ His own defiance takes him by surprise.  _ Is it really so unreasonable that I’m interested in her? _

_  It’s unreasonable to think she could ever return the sentiment.  _

 He finds himself slipping into debatery, a habit he usually employs when brainstorming, rather than wallowing in his own emotions.

_ Why couldn’t she? You’re not exactly undesirable. _

_  She’s almost four times my age. _

_  But relative to both your species, she’s barely a few years older than you. _

__ He rolls his eyes at this, breaking himself away from his own fantasy and  staring out the windshield at the rolling pastures. He knows the stereotypes of being illogical when in- when being  _ romantically interested _ in someone, but this is just  _ frustrating. _

_ Is it really so difficult to imagine?  _ A small part of him whispers, and he ignores it, his mouth drier than ever. He turns the car on, and the gentle rumble of the engine wakes Holly, who stirs awake not unlike a cat.

 “We aren’t there quite yet,” Artemis says before she can ask. “Go back to sleep,” he adds softly. She rubs her eyes and looks at him dolefully. 

 “How much longer?”

 “About an hour or so.”

 “Fine,” she mumbles, nestling back into the seat. He eases the car back onto the highway, and five minutes later she’s sleeping, her snores little purrs that have the quality of rain on a roof. 

 Artemis struggles to keep his eyes on the road the whole way there.

 

-

 

A hand on her shoulder gently shakes her awake, and she cracks open her eyes, glaring up at Artemis. His face is soft with sunset, and he smiles at her.

 “We’ve arrived, Holly.”

 “Finally,” Holly yawns, stretching and climbing out of the car, taking in the fresh air and cracking her back. Artemis pops the car’s trunk open and she takes out her luggage, rubbing her eyes.

 “I’m hungry,” she mumbles.

 “I know,” he says reassuringly. 

 “Artemis! Holly!”

 Holly turns and Minerva, who is taller than she remembers and evidently stronger as well, barrels across the front yard and envelops Artemis in a hug that lifts him off the ground. She towers above Artemis, her long golden hair in a silken rope down her back.

 “Hello to you too, Minerva,” Artemis grunts in French through the hug, patting her on the back. 

“It’s been so long,” the Frenchwoman gushes, putting Artemis back down. She warmly hugs Holly too, but doesn’t  _ quite _ lift her off the ground. 

 “Commander,” she says respectfully in French. “I trust Europe is treating you well?”

 “It has been,” Holly replies in kind. “But,” she adds, patting her belly, “It could be treating me better…”

 Minerva laughs. “Come, come, dinner is ready and waiting!”

 They follow her up the pathway behind some trees, to a gorgeous villa that reminds Holly of Artemis’s family home in Italy. 

 “We moved here just last year,” Minerva says in English. “Lucky for you, the renovations on the outdoor spa just finished last week.”

 “Lucky indeed,” Holly echoes, thinking of how nice a spa would feel.

 “After dinner, perhaps?” Artemis suggests. “Holly’s stomach will mutiny if we have to make her wait much longer.”

 “Of course, of course,” Minerva laughs. “Oh, shoes off, please…”

 They leave their luggage in the foyer and follow Minerva into the kitchen.

 A dark skinned woman with a broad nose and smiling eyes is tossing a salad. She looks up, mouth breaking into a wild smile.

 “Hello, Cathy,” Artemis says pleasantly. 

 “It’s been a long time,” Cathy says in English, and Holly blinks at her accent, broad and friendly. “I’ve got the chessboard ready, if you’re game.”

 “Surely you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of Holly, here,” Artemis protests, resting his hand on Holly’s shoulder. It’s a weight that turns reassuring when Cathy turns to look at her, the smile still welcoming.

 “Hi,” Holly says cautiously.

 “Hey!” she replies cheerfully. Holly relaxes. “Minerva said you’re vegetarian, so I’ve made some  _ ratatouille _ for you, is that okay?”

 “Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be fine,” Holly says politely. Minerva crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around Cathy’s waist. Her chin sits neatly on top of Cathy’s head.

 “As long as she didn’t forget the garlic again, it should be fine, no?” Minerva teases in English. Cathy elbows her, laughing.

“Go make yourself comfortable,” Cathy says, motioning at the door nearby. “We’ll have the rest of the food out in a sec.”

 Artemis leads Holly into the lounge room, and they both sink into the giant L shaped, buttery faux leather couch looking out across the hill. A fake woodfire crackles in front of them, and Holly, despite her hunger, feels sleepy once more.

 “How are you feeling?” Artemis asks her softly. Their thighs brush, and Holly is too relaxed to move back a little.

 “Okay. Cathy’s nice.” She snuggles into a cushion. “Was Minerva always that  _ tall?” _

 Artemis laughs. “No, I suspect she’s finally hit her last growth spurt. Her mother is approximately the same height.”

 Cathy brings in a tray piled high with food and empty plates, and Minerva follows with a bottle of wine and four wine glasses. They watch; Cathy slowly sets everything down while Minerva serves their wine in roughly the time it takes to blink.

 Artemis examines the bottle, and looks at Minerva approvingly.

 “Very nice,” he says. 

 “I’d hope so,” Minerva teases, sinking into the cushion next to Holly.

 “Dig in,” Cathy tells them, spooning some meat onto her own plate. 

Holly serves herself a healthy load of the  _ ratatouille _ , closing her eyes as she takes a bite of some slow cooked eggplant.

 “Amazing,” she says, eyes still closed.

 “Aw,” Cathy says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

 “So, where have you two been so far?” Minerva asks delicately, through a mouthful of food.

 “Greece, Italy, Spain,” Holly says, ticking each off on her fingers.

 Artemis rolls his eyes. “I took her to that private island I mentioned to you a while ago, the one that Mr. Kyrgios owns. We’ve mainly been to Tuscany and Banyoles, with a couple of day trips.”

 “Avoiding the tourist traps?” Cathy asks. Artemis nods, pouring himself and Holly a glass of wine. Holly takes a sip; rich, berry red, faintly spiced, it goes down very smoothly. She feels its effects almost instantaneously, a flush spreading to her ears.

 “That’s strong stuff,” she says.

 “Good stuff too,” Cathy adds, taking a swig. 

 “So, Holly’s dying to know how you met…” Artemis says lazily, leaning back into the couch. His legs are crossed elegantly, his arm draped over the back of the couch, wine glass in hand. 

 His thigh is still pressed against Holly’s.

 “Oh!” Cathy says brightly.

 Minerva grumbles, but it’s good natured. “Go on,” Minerva says to Cathy, patting her knee. “You tell it best.” She glances at Holly. “It’s not as good as Artemis made it out to be, though.”

 “I disagree,” Artemis says, from behind the rim of his wine glass.

 “So,” Cathy starts, turning to face Holly  the other side of Minerva. “I’m a trained sommelier. I used to work in Melbourne- one of Australia’s capital cities.” She glances at Minerva, who is steadfastly staring at the fire. “I had just been employed at an up and coming restaurant, and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing.”

 Minerva rolls her eyes.

 “She’s about to over exaggerate,” she says under her breath to Holly.

 “So the restaurant opens,” Cathy continues loudly, “And as far as I know, it’s a huge success, plenty of compliments are sent my way, and I’m pretty chuffed about the whole thing. Then one day I get a call from the manager.” She nods her head in Minerva’s direction. “Apparently some French woman has made a complaint about the wine pairings and is kicking up a fuss and  _ demanding, _ on a Saturday  _ night _ , to speak to the sommelier to prevent, and I quote, “ _ that this tragedy does not befall another unfortunate patron of this so called outstanding restaurant”.” _

__ “I was only 19,” Minerva protests. 

 “It was only two years ago!” Cathy exclaims.

 “Yes, but it was a  _ long _ two years,” Minerva replies dryly, taking a lengthy sip of wine.

 “ _ So.  _ The manager is panicking because apparently this girl’s family owns half the wine exporters she uses, she’s worried that this dramatic teenager is going to get us bad press, and I assure her I will come speak to the brat  _ personally _ and smooth things over.” Cathy pauses and looks at her fondly. “I put on my fancy clothes and head straight over. Obviously I’m furious but I’m also shitting myself, because there aren’t many Aboriginal sommeliers let alone  _ normal  _ sommeliers that get employed straight out of uni at age twenty two. I don’t want to lose my  _ job, _ I’ve  _ just _ started to get a good reputation, but also I’m super knackered and it’s like, ten o’clock in the evening. Who the  _ fuck _ threatens bad media coverage that late at night, honstly!”

 “Meanwhile I’m growing impatient, waiting for my apology. And then I see her,” Minerva sighs. “She stalks into the restaurant wearing this fitted pant suit and this terribly fake customer service smile, and I think to myself,  _ oh _ ,  _ I’m in love.” _

 “No, no,” Cathy says, “You don’t get to skip over the part where you  _ ordered the wrong wine _ .”

 “Minerva,” Artemis says, in mock disapproval, but Holly is engrossed in the story, leaning forward.

 “What happened then?” she says.

 Cathy rolls her eyes. “When she realised that it was  _ her _ fault and not mine, she used it as an excuse to treat me to a meal for all the trouble she caused while smoothly avoiding the need to actually apologise. And I mean, I didn’t exactly have a high income. I wasn’t going to say  _ no _ to a free fancy meal.” 

 “And then I very boldly asked her to dinner again,” Minerva says, swirling the wine in her glass. “And again, and again.”

 “It took her a  _ month  _ to kiss me,” Cathy informs them. “I was beginning to think she just wanted to be friends.”

 “Well, I wanted to make sure you actually knew what you were  _ doing _ at that restaurant,” Minerva says archly. “I didn’t want to date someone who didn’t know a Penfold’s 475 from a Penfolds 51 now, did I?”

 They glower at eachother but it dissolves into smiles, and they’re so clearly, wonderfully in love.

 She glances at Artemis, who is smiling at the two of them, warm and soft in the firelight. Perhaps sensing her gaze, he meets her glance; she looks away immediately, blaming her blush on the wine.

 

-

 

Long after Holly decides to sleep, and Cathy cries her surrender to Artemis and Minerva’s superior ability to sit upright, the two old friends sit and chat, well into their second mini-camembert.

 Minerva, who enjoys cutting to the quick, says casually in French, over her seventh glass of sherry, “So does she know?”

 Artemis chokes on his cheese.

 “I’m sorry?” He splutters, so surprised that he says it in English.

 “Don’t play the fool,” Minerva says pointedly, still in French.

 “I don’t know what you mean,” he says calmly, once his airways are clear, switching to the same language. “Does who know what?”

 She eyes him carefully. Artemis feels the back of his neck burn red, staring down at his tenth glass. He’s unsteady, and though the large meal has soaked a fair bit of the alcohol up, he can still feel that he’s had far too much, that he shouldn’t finish the glass.

 He raises it and gulps the rest down.

 “Do  _ you _ know?” Minerva asks, a bit hesitantly.

 “Unfortunately,” he says in a mumble. He goes to pour himself another glass; Minerva moves the bottle out of his reach.

 “Minerva,” he protests.

 “You’ve had enough,” she tells him, and hiccups. 

 “Fine.” He very shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the fridge to pour himself some water. He can feel Minerva’s eyes on him, boring a hole in his back, the entire time he busies himself pouring the water and coming back to the couch. The moment his backside touches the seat, she starts again.

 “How long?”

 “I don’t know,” he shrugs.

 “Liar,” she sas with a crispness that is undermined by another hiccup. 

 “Enough,” Artemis grumbles. 

 “Are you going to tell her?”

 He gives her a Classic Artemis Fowl eye roll, which backfires when he feels abruptly dizzy. “What do  _ you _ think?”

 “I think,” Minerva says, “That you shouldn’t give up hope.”

 “Yes,” Artemis snorts, “Because a gigantic difference in species, age, culture and general personality has not only statistically, but historically ended well. Show me your citations, Ms. Minerva.”

 “Opposites attract,” Minera points out. “Me and Cathy, for example-”

 “‘ _ Me and Cathy?’” _ Artemis says, scandalised. “‘Cathy and  _ I’ _ , Minerva, pull yourself  _ together _ .”

  “Cathy and  _ I, _ ” she says, looking faintly embarrassed. “I’m a privileged white French woman born into money, and Cathy had to struggle through racism and inequality trenched several centuries deep. And yet, here we are, happy and in love.”

 “Yes,” Artemis says in impatience, “But both of you actually  _ human _ , Minerva.”

 “So what if Holly’s a little short?” Minerva says dismissively. “Everyone’s short compared to me.”

 Artemis pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ve had far too much to drink,” he says grimly.

 “ _ You’ve _ had far too much to drink,” Minerva says primly. “I could go all night.”

 He steeples his hands and rests his elbows on his knees. The room spins with the motion. 

 “All of our banter aside,” he says quietly, “I will not be informing her of this.”

 “What if she feels the same, Artemis?” she says gently, laying a hand on his knee. 

 “I know Holly very well,” he says simply. “And she could never feel the same.”

 

-

 

Holly has a dream she hasn’t had in a long time, not since that disaster with the time travel and the lemur, the shock of her body darting between ages and the struggle to feel like she was truly back in her body.

 She’s standing next to her couch, the soft, lush faux leather one she adores, but it’s in a cage, and Artemis is there, stubble on his jaw and a glass of wine in his hand. He looks at her with a smile, his hair long and draping over his shoulders.

 Neither of them say anything in this dream, and Holly crosses to him, on legs that are millimetres shorter than they should be, in a body that feels fresher, less leaden with scars. She sits on the couch, and Artemis smiles again at her, and says something, but no sound comes from his mouth.

_ What? _ she says. He laughs (silently) and repeats himself, to no avail. He leans in just as she does, trying to hear him, and suddenly he’s so close,  _ too _ close, but they’re both still moving closer-

 She jolts awake in her bed, and immediately covers her own face in embarrassment, horror, even as her cheeks are warm and her heart is racing.

_ t’s because of all the wine, _ she tells herself. _ You’re a dehydrated  mess, Commander Short. _

She goes to get some water, comes back to bed, and lies there for an hour. She can feel it’s about four in the morning, and knows she won’t be able to sleep now. She turns on her side and checks her communicator.

 A couple of messages from Foaly and Mulch. Thankful for the distraction, she checks Foaly’s first. It’s a video of his youngest, standing on knobbly legs and walking to Foaly, who is clearly overcome with affection. She smiles.

_ She’s looking as athletic as her old man, _ she replies. It’s too early by Haven time for a reply straight away, so she checks Mulch’s.

_ Hope ur having a gd time in France. U better be picking up plenty of souvenirs for me! _

__ She rolls her eyes. 

_ Mulch, u’ve  _ stolen _ half of Europe, i don’t need to buy u knick knacks _

__ Mulch, unlike Foaly who has long fallen into a healthy sleep routine after having children, replies almost immediately.

_ unacceptable. how r the digs at Artemis 2.0 tho _

__ She sends him some pictures.

_ if i weren’t a reformed criminal, id be damn tempted to make a visit and strip the place _

_  Yeah, like u arent stil living off that gold u swipe all those yrs ago _

__ The conversation continues along a similar vein until the sun peeks through the blinds at seven, and she gets up to go sit outside.

 She watches the sun rise, a luxury that she will never take for granted after years and years of being below the surface. The rays of light creep up her legs and she sighs, drawing her robe around herself as a gentle breeze picks up.

 The door opens behind her, and Cathy comes out with a tray of food.

 “Morning,” she says brightly, offering her a cup of coffee. She takes it gratefully. “Those two idiots were up all night,” Cathy tells her, taking a slice of apple from the tray. “And there’s two empty bottles on wine in the kitchen. It’ll be a quiet day for the two of them, I promise you.”

 Holly laughs. “Are they always like this?”

 Cathy shakes her head. “They don’t usually go that hard. I guess the food must have soaked a fair bit up.”

 “How long have you both been here, again?” Holly says, attempting to make small talk.

 Cathy hums, looking out over the countryside. “A year or so, I guess?” She takes a sip of her coffee. “After a year of being long distance, Minerva basically bought a house and asked me to move in with her.” She smiles a secret little smile. “I’m a kept woman, at least for now. It’s nice, actually, after being in debt and having little money for so long.”

 “I know the feeling,” Holly nods. She chooses a pastry and they both sit in surprisingly comfortable silence.

 “What do you do to keep yourself busy?” Cathy asks. “Minerva didn’t really tell me too much besides that you and Artemis are old friends.”

 “Oh,” Holly says, drawing a blank. “Law enforcement,” she says, and Cathy looks surprised. 

_  Of course she looks surprised,  _  she thinks, cursing her stupidity,  _ Most humans barely a meter tall don’t work in law enforcement Holly,  _ d’arvit.

 “Not as an officer,” Holly says quickly. “I, uh. I’m a civilian administrator.” She forces a laugh gesturing to herself. “I’m not exactly cut out for busting criminals.”

 “I dunno,” Cathy smiles. “You got some muscle there.” 

 Holly’s chest swells a little. She’s always been a sucker for pretty women admiring her muscles.

 “So, how do you and Artemis know eachother?”

 The lie comes easier this time. “Oh, he had a run in with the law a while ago. A misunderstanding our end. I met him when he came in to give a statement. We kinda just… fell into being friends, after that?”

 “That’s how it is, sometimes,” Cathy says. “Sometimes you meet certain people and it’s just right.”

 Holly’s ears heat up. “No, we aren’t- we’re just-”

 “I know,” Cathy laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 Holly laughs nervously, and takes a long sip of the coffee left in her mug.

 They chat for a while longer and then go back inside to load the dishwasher and generally clean up last night’s mess. Holly spends half of it looking at the printed out photos of them, neat little things that look like they’re on genuine photo paper.

 “These are cute,” she says, lingering over one of the two women hugging. 

 “I’m a sucker for an instant camera,” Cathy says from the dining area. “There’s just something novel about having the photos in your hand, isnt there?”

 Holly, who hasn’t seen instant cameras in anything but museums, agrees. 

 “We’ll have to take some while you guys are here,” Cathy continues, coming in with the last of the dirty dishes. 

 “That would be nice,” Holly says, helping her wipe down the bench and stove top. She has to strain on her tiptoes a little, but Cathy doesn’t say anything. They go back to their rooms, and Holly pulls on some pants and a t shirt, some shoes, and goes for a walk outside through the trees. The air is cold against her arms but refreshing, prickly and sharp. Out here, amongst the trees and morning light, that dream seems silly, ridiculous that she ever got upset over something as little as her unconscious mind’s nattering.

 After an hour of wandering, she makes her way back to the house in good spirits to find Minerva and Artemis hunched over on the couches, nursing coffee in silence.

 “I told you,” Cathy smirks at Holly from her seat by the window, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail.

 “It’s your own fault,” Holly tells them sternly, but can’t help smiling when Artemis groans at his own foolishness, looking up at her with blood shot eyes.

 “Not so loud,” Minerva mumbles in French. 

_ Silly Mud people, _ she thinks fondly, and casually lays a hand over the back of the couch, onto Artemis’s head. A trickle of magic jolt down her fingers and through his thick hair, soothing into the hangover. He sighs, leaning back into her touch; she can feel the veins retreat from his eyes, the slight swell in his temple cease. She doesn’t move her hand away because the magic needs to sink in, she tells herself.

 “Drink some water,” she says roughly, taking the coffee from the two of them. After a moment of hesitation, she “accidentally” brushes Minerva’s fingers when she takes the blond woman’s mug, lets some magic ease her headache as well. 

 “Thank you,” Minerva croaks, a knowing look in her eyes.

 Artemis, meanwhile, looks at Holly with a startlingly vulnerable expression of unguarded, uncharacteristic affection. His hair tousled, his pyjama shirt showing  the deep V of his chest, an unexpected well of  _ something _ springing forth from her.

 She thinks of that damnable dream again, and turns away, shame coursing through her veins.


	8. cameras and jacuzzis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cold nights and warm water, or; 
> 
> No chance no way I won't say it, no no (You swoon you sigh why deny it oh oh)

The sudden  _ click _ of the instant camera Cathy points at him catches him off guard; he almost drops the wine bottle he’s examining, and glares at her.

 “Sorry,” she grins, not looking sorry at all. She takes the photo out, shaking it gently.

 They’re in a winery not too far from Minerva’s little estate, examining their range. Cathy has highly recommended it, and Artemis trusts that Minerva would never let something as simple as romantic entanglement come before a good sauvignon blanc.

 Minerva is speaking to the elderly gentleman manning the cellar, and Holly is next to Cathy, watching the instant camera in action.

 “It’s a good photo,” Cathy says after a second, handing it to Holly, who stares at it. Artemis can only assume the novelty of the instant camera is keeping her amused, as she seems unable to tear her eyes away from it.

 “May I see?” he asks, holding his hand out. Holly starts, looking up at him. He can’t help but notice the edges of her cheeks are a dusky red, and he’s almost positive her ears are the same color. He can’t imagine why she’s blushing, but she looks quite fetching. She hands him the photo silently and he glances at it.

 Artemis may be vain, but he doesn’t spend much time in the mirror besides the time it takes to shave and do his hair. He knows, on some higher level, that he is not a physically unattractive person. He knows he dresses well, and that he looks immaculate as a result. But he doesn’t seek his own reflection, doesn’t take selfies. Artemis has a picture of himself in his head that revolves around his qualifications, his achievements, his intellect, a picture that he uses clothing and manicures to enhance. 

  So it’s odd to see this candid photo, a photo which is simultaneously that picture he has of himself, and not at  _ all _ how he sees himself.

 The man in the photo looks young, narrow but healthy, lost in thought, far far away from the criminal childhood Artemis carefully, carefully leapt through. Those hands, long and thin and not as usually manicured as he’d like, seem to belong to a piano player, not of a mastermind who has brought adversary after adversary to their knees. His hair is mussed, thick hanks falling out of a haircut just a few millimetres short of sharp, and those mismatched eyes have the start of laughter lines he’s never noticed.

Artemis hums, and gives it back to Holly.

“The lighting could be better,” he says to Cathy, who lets out a short bark of a laugh, and he hands it back to her. She slips it into the little camera case, and aims her camera at a small sculpture on top of the wine case.

 “I haven’t seen an instant camera in a long time,” Artemis muses aloud, turning his attention back to the bottle in his hand. “I wasn’t aware you could still purchase them.”

 “I haven’t seen one outside of a  _ museum _ ,” Holly says. “It makes me feel  _ old _ .”

 The words make Artemis’s heart twinge a little, but he smiles. “You don’t look a day over sixty, Holly.”

 And that makes something pass quickly over Holly’s face, something that could almost be hurt, perhaps unhappiness? Artemis dare not examine it further, dare not latch onto its implications, but his traitor heart feels a little lighter.

 He puts the wine back, and they go over to Minerva, who’s in the middle of filling out an order form.

 “Papa likes it when I send him things,” she tells Holly by way of explanation. “This is one of his favourite labels.”

 “Do you see him often?”

 “I saw him only a few weeks ago, when I went back to Paris for a conference,” Minerva smiles. “He’s doing very well.” She nods at Artemis. “The two of them are working on a wine themselves, actually.”

 “Do you have  _ any _ time to yourself?” Holly asks him, amused.

 He smiles. “The devil makes work of idle hands, my dear Holly.”

 She doesn’t need to know that though he enjoys his downtime, the smell of roses is sometimes far too strong in stillness.

 Minerva finishes the form, and they all leave, Cathy stopping again outside to take a photo of the afternoon scenery.

 “I forgot how much fun this thing is,” she tells them, eye still pressed to the viewfinder. 

 “I hope you’re both happy,” Minerva says. “She’ll be obsessing over this thing for months,  _ again _ .”

 Cathy makes a noise of agreement, and turns the camera to them, then looks up, an idea striking her.

 “Oh, let’s take a group selfie!”

 Minerva and Artemis share a glance, and then Artemis sees Holly nod enthusiastically. So, naturally, he has to shrug in acceptance.

_ Useless _ , Minerva mouths to him in French over Holly’s head.

 They crowd around together, Holly standing on top of one of the nearby rocks littering the garden. Cathy is pressed against Artemis, her shoulder jabbing him a little. Minerva, the tallest (and in possession of the longest arms) holds the camera out in front of them, and Holly is on her tiptoes, the back of her head brushing Artemis’s chest. Almost as if she’s leaning into him, and he can feel her warmth all down his front. It makes a shy smile pulls at his lips, and that’s when Minerva says, “Say Cheese!”

 “What?” Holly says, turning to look back at her in confusion, her cheek brushing against Artemis’s collarbones, but because Minerva’s behind Artemis, encircling them all, Holly ends up looking at Artemis instead, and then there’s a flash and a whir.

“You know,” Cathy says. “Cheese? As in we’re taking a picture.”

“Oh- right,” Holly says hastily, and Artemis makes a note to explain to her later. Minerva shows them the picture.

Cathy is beaming, Minerva smiling. Artemis, much to his horror, is blushing slightly, and Holly looking up at him, with a smile of bemusement.

 “Cute!” Cathy exclaims.

 “Very cute,” Minerva murmurs, and Artemis shoots her a glare. “I have to go to a meeting in an hour or so,” Minerva says, handing Cathy the camera. “I’ll drop you all back home and we can arrange dinner once I return.”

 “I’m probably going to have a nap,” Cathy confesses.

 “I believe I was promised a spa?” Holly says. 

 

-

 

Which is how Holly finds herself half asleep in the jacuzzi, the almost too hot water bubbling and pushes against the tiny little knots in her back that haven’t been washed away by the last few weeks  _ quite _ yet.

 The tree’s shadows brush over her face, the sun strong and the breeze cold, and it’s very, very pleasant. She thinks she could stay here forever.

 “ _ So why don’t you? _ ” Foaly asks down the line, and she laughs.

 “Because I have things to do!”

 “ _ Like…?” _

__ “I run a major branch of Haven’s military forces for one thing,” she says lazily. Cathy is fast asleep on the other side of the house, so she’s unconcerned about being overheard.

 “ _ We got along just fine without you for two years, _ ” Foaly points out. “ _ You deserve a break.” _

 “I’m already on a holiday,” she says, bemused. “What else do you want from me?”

_ “I want you to be happy and healthy,”  _ Foaly says. “ _ And maybe meet someone, have kids-” _

__ Holly laughs. Loudly. 

_ “- okay, maybe not kids,”  _ Foaly admits. 

 “Definitely not,” Holly says. And it’s true. She loves kids, and is delighted to see them, but she’s very content being the godmother to Foaly’s, rather than pushing out any of her own.

 “ _ Don’t you get lonely, though?” _ Foaly presses. “ _ And I don’t mean that you can’t be happy on your own, or that you  _ need _ someone, I just…” _

__ “When I meet someone who can actually  _ handle _ me, I’ll think about it,” Holly says, closing her eyes. 

 Foaly snorts. “ _ I’ve only ever met five people who meet  _ that  _ criteria. You dumped three of them, one was basically your father, and the fifth would never work.” _

__ Holly frowns, trying to figure out who the fifth person is. Daisy, River, Trouble, Root…

 “ _ All I’m saying is, all of our other friends and their partners  _ hate _ boardgames, so-” _

__ “Who’s the fifth?”

_ “What?” _

__ “Who’s the fifth? The one it would never happen with?”

 There’s a pause, and Foaly makes a strangled sort of laugh.

 “ _ No one,” _ he says. And then, after a pause, “ _ Okay, I was just joking around, but it’s not really a  _ funny _ joke _ -”

 “Who?” Holly says, curious. 

 “ _ Just remember I was joking, okay?” _

__ “Foaly!”

 “ _ Artemis. _ ” And then, quickly, _ “But obviously that would never happen, which is why it’s a joke.” _ She’s silent, unsure how this makes her feel. Foaly clears his throat.  _ “Clearly, my funny bone is a bit rusty.” _

__ “Do you mind if I join you?”

 She opens her eyes, and is suddenly very glad that Foaly isn’t on speaker.

 “ _ Speak of the devil,” _ Foaly mutters.

 Artemis is wearing a pair of trunks and nothing else. Holly is painfully struck by how much skin she is seeing right now. Granted, it’s extremely pale, but there’s a  _ lot _ of it, a lot of… Mud Man on display. She hasn’t seen this much of him since That Whole Debacle. The one with the lemur. Which had been an embarrassing situation, but for a different reason-

 She closes her eyes, pretending to be nonplussed. “Sure.”

 She feels the water shift as he climbs in and settles across from her. She struggles to pretend the image of his bare skin that patch of dark hair lightly dusting his chest, isn’t stuck in her mind. She’s not thinking of how shockingly  _ not  _ sticklike his arms are,  _ no sir _ .

 “I’m just chatting with Foaly,” she explains, keeping her eyes closed, and flicks the line onto speaker, keeping it relatively soft.

 “You’re on speaker,” she tells him. “ _ Behave.” _

 “How’s Mabel?” Artemis asks, and she cracks open an eyelid as Foaly gushes, telling them about Mabel’s first week at school.

 Artemis is listening intently, relaxed, collarbones peeking out of the water, a five o’clock shadow starting to darken his jaw. Holly closes her eyes again before he can catch her looking, and then feels that wave of shame over her again, annoyance.

 It’s just  _ Artemis,  _ she scolds herself. Gods, Foaly is right. She needs to meet someone. It’s been almost a decade since she had sex. That’s all this is. When she gets back home, she’ll go on a date, do the Do.

 She sinks down lower into the spa.

“ _ I better go, _ ” Foaly says. “ _ It’s dinner time soon, and Cabelline will need as much help as she can trying to get Mabel to eat her broccolli. I’ll reply to your email tonight, Artemis.” _

__ “Bye,” Holly says, Artemis echoing her sentiments, and then Foaly’s gone, and it’s just the two of them in this very warm, relatively small spa.

 “What do you feel like for dinner?” Artemis asks her. “Minerva should return in about half an hour.”

 She forces herself to look at him, because he isn’t doing anything wrong, and she’s being  _ silly _ . 

 “Something warm?” she suggests. He hums, leaning his elbow on the edge of the spa, resting his chin on his hand. The movement causes the slim but undeniable muscle of his bicep to flex a little. She drags her eyes back up to his.

 “Minerva mentioned to me there’s a family owned restaurant at the next village that she quite enjoys. They’re famous in these parts.”

 “Mhmm,” she says, staring steadfastly up at the leaves swaying above them. “Sounds good.”

 “The day after tomorrow, we’ll leave for the next part of the trip.”

 “Mhmm,” she says. “Sounds good.”

 “Are you alright?” Artemis says, a smile in his voice. She looks at him, how his mismatched eyes are crinkling at the corners. “You’ve seemed quite far away since we came back from the winery.”

 “I’m fine,” she says automatically, and then winces.

 He raises a brow just a  _ fraction _ , and that smile turns hesitant. “We can return to Ireland, if you’d like. I understand if you’re perhaps getting homesick, or-”

 “No,” she blurts, and Artemis pauses. “I’m just…”

 “... yes?”

 “Tired. I’m just tired,” she says, and smiles at him. It takes a couple of seconds, but then the smile becomes real, genuine. “I’m really enjoying the trip, Artemis. It’s lovely.”

 He blinks, and then that hesitant smile becomes a remarkably unguarded beam, and Holly feels worse, because she’s making this weird, and all Artemis is doing is being a good friend.

 “I’m glad. I’m enjoying our trip together as well, Holly.”

 She can never remember Artemis smiling this much, as he has on this trip, and remembers Butler’s words to her, his concern. But this Artemis seems so relaxed, so happy. What’s changed, between then and now?

-

 

After dinner that night, they drive home with the top down, the wind sharp against their faces, their hands warm and safe in their thick jackets. Cathy puts on a playlist full of warm, nostalgic sort of alternative, indie and pop music that even Artemis can’t find any objections to. 

 The stars are bright in the sky, the susurrus of leaves whipping past as Minerva goes a tiny bit faster than she should, just enough that Artemis is invigorated a little. He hasn’t had many typical experiences in his life, but this feels like one of them, a mood that belongs in a dime-a-dozen acid washed film full of teenagers, artistic shots and hipster music. Despite his distaste for things stereotypical, he can’t help but find himself… enjoying it.

 Cathy is half asleep in the front passenger seat as Minerva drives, watching the night-lit scenery flick by. Artemis is in the back next to Holly, who has sunk in her chair, looking up at the skies.

 The song slides into something slower, softer, and Artemis sinks into his chair as well, joining Holly in her upwards gaze.

 “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the stars,” Holly murmurs to Artemis, barely above a whisper, just between the two of them. Minerva’s car may be top of the range, but it’s also tiny, and they’re almost leaning against each other. 

 He opens his mouth to say something automatically witty, something to make her chuckle, but instead just makes a soft noise of agreement. He’s lulled into a sense of security, of quiet pleasure, by the air, the stars, the several glasses of wine and the large meal; the friends surrounding him, Holly a welcome closeness. 

 It’s an uncharacteristically childish thought, something he would roll his eyes at only a decade ago, but. He doesn’t want this trip to end.

 The song crests, and Artemis turns to look at Holly, at her sleepy eyes reflecting the heavens. His heart gives a slow, lazy,  _ painful _ thud, and he wants to hold her hand, wants to extend this closeness, somehow. But he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable, either. Physical intimacy, platonic or otherwise, is something he has scarce experience with.

_ I tie my life to your balloon, and let it go _ , the music murmurs, and he keeps his hands to himself.  

 

-

 

It’s the afternoon before they leave; Artemis is busy facing off against Cathy for their traditional yearly chess match out on the porch; inside, Minerva is showing Holly how to waltz.

 Granted, it’s difficult, considering Minerva is  _ literally _ nearly twice her height, and that Holly generally prefers to lead in the few partner dances Havenites know. But Holly didn’t struggle through the LEP to be defeated by a Mud Man dance, and what she lacks in height she can make up for in muscle and sheer force of wheel.

 “This isn’t going as well as I thought,” Minerva laughs. Holly can’t help but laugh too, as she tries to twirl Minerva. “Perhaps you should get Artemis to teach you?” she adds, something almost like mischievousness in her eyes. Holly doesn’t say anything, mostly because she’s focused on not being stepped on, but also, she refuses to be weird, is trying to let these thoughts settle, trying to avoid them.

 “He’s quite a good dancer,” Minerva continues. “Apparently it’s the only physical thing he  _ is _ good at.”

 “It’s because it’s something he can put down to mathematics, I bet,” Holly mumbles, trying to lead Minerva into the  _ promenade _ . Minerva almost trips over her, and they both start laughing again, and Holly throws her hands up.

 “I give up,” she says, looking up at Minerva, who smiles and shrugs.

 “It was worth a try,” Minerva says, and sets to making them both some tea. Holly sits on the stool near the kitchen counter as the smell of jasmine fills the kitchen.

 “I love it here,” Minerva smiles, looking out the window; Holly can see Artemis and Cathy in the distance, tiny little figures against the lush grass. 

 “Do Mud People still get married young, these days?” Holly asks.

 “Some of them,” Minerva allows, and then smiles a secret little smile to herself. “Hopefully I’ll be one of them.”

 “Are congratulations in order?” Holly asks, a warm, genuine affection in the words. It surprises her, but she actually  _ likes _ Minerva, and will truly be sad to move on from this part of the trip. 

 “Not yet I think I’ll give it a few more years before I propose.” Minerva passes her a mug of tea. “Cathy’s expressed several times her indifference to matrimony. I don’t want to push anything on her.”

 “In Haven, we used to do handfasting,” Holly says. 

 “Really? The traditional style, where you live together for a year before marriage, contract and all?”

 “Yep. It’s pretty much died out though. The People just live together now, not unlike humans do.” She thinks. “Actually, our marriage ceremonies are pretty influenced by yours.”

 “I would have thought it was the other way around.”

 “Well,” Holly says, sipping her tea. “The Irish stole handfasting from us. And then, several centuries later, smugglers started importing Mud People films, and marriage as you know it came into vogue in Haven, much to the disgust of many an old fairy.”

 “Have you ever been married?” Cathy asks, leaning on the counter.

 Holly coughs. “No, I’m a little too young.”

 “Oh, is that so?” Minerva says, and something in the innocence of the way she says it makes Holly’s eyes narrow. “How old would you be in human years?”

 “I guess… twenty six, twenty seven?”

 “So not much older than Cathy,” Minerva muses. 

 Holly knows she’s digging at something, but doesn’t know  _ what _ , and just nods mutely.

 “So what age do the People usually marry?” Minerva asks.

 “Two hundred or so, give or take a few decades? When you can live for nearly a millenia, you tend to take things slow.”

 “Interesting,” Minerva says. The door opens and Artemis and Cathy come in, shedding their coats, trading quips, and that effectively ends the conversation. But Holly feels for the rest of the day that Minerva’s eyes trailing her around the room, particularly whenever she’s talking to Artemis.

 

-

 

They load the car back up, and then it’s time to go, quite abruptly. Artemis gives Cathy a big hug, and then Minerva snatches him up into an embrace that puts bears to shame.

 “Be brave and  _ talk _ to her,” she murmurs into his ear, and puts him back down. “And stop drinking so much,” she adds, a little frown creasing her brows. Artemis glances at Holly, who is too busy chatting with Cathy to hear them. “Holly might not have noticed, but I have _. _ ”

 “I’m not sure what you’re talking about” he say, pretending not to feel a twinge of shame, fear, with himself. He tucks it away to examine later.

 Holly makes a noise of delight, as Cathy presents her with a small box.

 “Open it,” Cathy tells her, excited. Minerva smiles and wraps her arm around Cathy’s shoulders, and they watch Holly all but rip the box apart.

 It’s an instant camera, not unlike Cathy’s, but a deep auburn that matches Holly’s hair perfectly, with several cartridges of film, and a small photobook. Artemis loads the cartridges in for her as Holly flips through the book; it’s mostly empty, but the first few pages are filled with photos Cathy took. There’s the photo of Artemis, the group photo, a few other snapshots of their time together.

 “Is this what your meeting was?” Artemis asks Minerva wryly.

 “Perhaps,” she shrugs. Holly jumps at her and clamps onto her with a hug not unlike the way koalas clamp onto trees.

 “Thank you!” she exclaims, faintly muffled.

 “You’re very welcome,” Minerva says. “I’m glad we got the chance to... know each other a little better.”

 Artemis knows that the two of them, grinning a little awkwardly at eachother, are both thinking about their problematic first meeting. Holly lets go of her, and pats her on the hip.

 “It’s all good,” Holly says. 

 “Thank you for a lovely time,” Artemis says, trying to move Holly along when he realises how late they’re running. They both get in the car, and after several more waylaid farewells, they drive away.

 Holly puts on some music that Cathy must have recommended to her, and the car fills with that gentle music from the drive home the night before last. 

 “That was so nice,” Holly sighs. “And Cathy didn’t see my ears  _ once _ .”

 Artemis coughs. Holly sighs again, but it’s a sigh of apprehension.

 “She… may have caught a glimpse of them,” Artemis says.

 What did you tell her?” Holly says, concern rising in her tone.

 “Exactly what I said I would, before we left.”

 Holly puts her head in her hands and groans. “The plastic surgery thing?”

 “Yes.” He risks a glance at her. He can see red on her cheeks through her fingers. “Don’t be worried, Holly. She accepted it without question. Apparently she has several tattoos she already deeply regrets, and empathises with your… ‘choice’.”

 Holly looks relieved. “Thank the gods.”

 “Besides, she thought they suited you.”

 She pinches the end of one and grins. “Of course they do. I’m an elf.”

 “I never noticed,” Artemis says.

 “My height didn’t give it away?” Holly teases.

 “No, but the pot of gold you had hidden in your suitcase did make me think,” Artemis says very seriously, and Holly laughs, smacking his knee.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song they're listening to in the car is "Warm Foothills" by alt-J, and I highly recommend it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WZh49lA9ns
> 
> as per usual thank you for all the lovely comments!!!! they make my day!!! this story is actually going somewhere, i promise lmaoo


	9. slow bern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> artemis asks a question; holly makes up for lost time
> 
> (a little more nsfw than usual, beware)

Artemis stares out at the perfectly still waters reflecting the stars. He’s wrapped in a thick wool jumper, his hair mussed, and his fingers restless.

 He had that dream again, last night, the one from several weeks ago. Lemurs and.. trackpants...

 And the kiss.

 He’d woken up once more with morning (evening, he supposes) wood, and moaned into the crook of his arm as he rocked into his hand so Holly wouldn’t hear him in the next room over. They’re in a charmingly rustic house in Switzerland, overlooking the underrated lake Oeschinensee, settled in a small valley, the wind easing through.

 Artemis sits on a rocking chair on the porch, thinking. This time, the dream had been more detailed, with strange things, some of which he suspects matches up with what Holly and Number One had told him about their trip into the past; a zoo, the lemur, tanning vats, climbing across cables.

 So why, then, is there a kiss amongst that? The sensation of lips, his heart thundering in his ears, magic in his bones? When he has remembered things before, fantasy has never slipped in between them, a cuckoo in a small nest.

 Truly, this is one of the things he still trips over. He has never had memory issues before his reincarnation in this body, never had to struggle to recall things. Artemis isn’t foolish enough to bemoan his second chance at life, but it’s… frustrating.

 Especially when he feels like the person whose lips those belong to should be so easy to remember, something Artemis should feel in his bones, natural like breathing and thinking.

 He goes inside, aimlessly to the fridge, and stops with his hand on the bottle of wine.

 Minerva’s voice scolds him, the image of her brows pinched tight, and his throat burns with a sudden need for the reassuring weight of a full glass in his hand.

 He closes the fridge, closes his eyes, shaken a little.

  _I so hate it when she’s right,_ Artemis thinks, and goes and gets a glass of water instead.

 

-

 

Holly is woken the next morning by a gentle knock on her door; she sits up in bed, mumbles something. Clearly Artemis can hear it and he comes in with a tray of food, the sunlight streaming through the windows behind him. She’s still half asleep, and something in her chest catches at him, his messy bed hair and the long sleeved shirt that’s accidentally a little tucked into his thick pajama pants.

 “Good morning,” he smiles.

 Holly yawns widely, stretching her arms up over her head. “I can’t believe sitting in a car for several hours was so tiring,” she groans.

 “I made some coffee and muesli.” He sets the tray down on the bedside table, and she huffs a breath at the rich aroma the coffee is exuding like a blessing. She takes it immediately, the cup warm in her hand, and sips long. After a moment, she pats the bed next to her. Artemis sits down on the edge after a few seconds.

 “Holly,” he says hesitantly. “Is there any chance that you or Number One forgot to tell me something about the time we went back into the past for the lemur?”

 Holly chokes, her throat full of burning coffee, and Artemis immediately goes to pass her the glass of water he brought in as well. She waves him away, managing to get herself back under control. The tips of her ears are burning, and she reaches out for the bowl of muesli, avoiding his gaze.

 “What do you mean?” she says lightly, brings the bowl into her lap.

 Artemis looks hesitant, and… something she’s never seen on him before.

 He looks _shy_.

 “I’ve had this particular dream a few times now,” he says. “Some of it I recognise to be events from that whole “debacle”, as you described it. Some of it… I don’t remember you telling me.”

  _Gods_ , Holly thinks. She had left that part of the story out, left out how in her _stupidity_ , her _hormones_ , she essentially forced herself on him.

 Later, after the dust had settled, after the kraken exploded and they all had more than a few moments to rest, she had apologised to Artemis. Had apologised for her gross misconduct, for engaging sexually with a minor. With _him_.

 (Of course she knows Artemis wasn’t a vulnerable teenager, but she had watched him grow up, for the gods sakes, a shame she will never live down.)

 Artemis had laughed, and reassured her he bore her no ill will for it. In his own words- it had been a long, confusing, _mess_ of an adventure.

 But Artemis here, Artemis _now_ , didn’t remember this, doesn’t remember that follow up conversation. She had left it out because frankly? It was embarrassing, and regardless of how Artemis had been unaffected, it was a stupid, awful, cringey thing she did that she tries not to remember. She had hoped somehow he would remember both these moments at the same time, away from her, and they wouldn’t have to relive it again.

 But the time has come, and it’s the bed she made in her hormone riddled fear all those years ago, so she steadies herself.

 “Artemis,” she begins, but Artemis is already talking, having taken her silence as a cue for him to continue.

 “I was wearing trackpants,” he frowns. “And I had a _goatee_?”

 Holly stares at him for a second, and then, gratefully, laughs.

 “I wasn’t aware that was important,” she says, thinking to herself, _Holly, you_ asshole _, rip the bandaid off and_ tell him.

 “Holly,” he says very seriously. “A person like me, wearing trackpants? Would you put bumper stickers on a Ferrari?”

 “I would hardly describe you as a _Ferrari_ ,” Holly says and before she can stop this, tell him what she _did_ , they’re bantering and bickering and Artemis is laughing, leaving the room to get changed.

 She looks into her bowl of muesli and feels like a piece of shit.

 

-

 

Their first stop is Bern, a town with what Artemis can only think of as old buildings. But he knew Holly would like it, and she does; the cobblestone streets, the unusual statues.

 As she laughs at a particularly bizarre statue of a squatting old man, he’s increasingly glad he didn’t ask about the mystery of the kiss, of who it could have been.  On the off chance it wasn’t just a dream, he almost doesn’t want to know.

He doesn’t want his first kiss to be with somehow who isn’t.

 Well.

 Holly looks resplendent today in his favourite day-to-day outfit he had had made for her, a pair of slim fitting trousers and a colourful jumper, a wide brimmed felt hat that covers her ears. He glances at her, at how she laughs, and his heart aches with it, with how lucky he is to know her.

 He fantasises, briefly, about placing his lips on the curve of that smile, _just_ so, about his hand on the small on her back-

 “I can’t believe someone actually thought this was a good idea,” Holly cackles.

 “It’s an undeniable tourist attraction, though,” Artemis points out, as if he hasn’t just been thinking about kissing her tenderly, passionately.

 They keep walking down the cobblestoned streets.

 “Yeah, but do you really want to be known as the town that has a giant baby eater statue?”

 Artemis can’t find a witty rejoinder for that. Holly, meanwhile, is making use of Minerva and Cathy’s gift, taking photos of anything that captures her interest.

 Her training as an artist is clear when she shows him these photos, things of little interest that he would never have looked at twice; the reflection in an old window, the dappling of light through tree leaves.

 “You really could have made an impact on Haven’s art scene,” he tells her, handing her back the newest photo, of a man feeding a bird, a photo impossibly gentle.

 She smiles down at the photo, but there’s an angry quirk to it. “Maybe.”

 “You could take it up as a hobby, at least?” Artemis tries, unsure what to say at how her brows draw and pull together.

 “I don’t have time for hobbies,” she says finally with a laugh, and elbows him gently, but he sees how she carefully slips the photos back in the case.

 

-

 

The next day, Holly all but kicks his door down. Artemis lies in bed, blinking at her like he’s hungover.

 “What _time_ is it?” he moans.

 “It’s five thirty,” she announces.

 “ _Holly._ ”

 “We’re going on a hike to see the sunrise,” she tells him. Artemis rolls over on the mattress, drags a hand down his face. “I need a work out of some kind, my body’s going _crazy_.”

 “Fine, _fine_ ,” he mutters, clawing his way out of bed, staggering over to his suitcase and pulling out some clothes. “I knew this would happen sooner or later,” he mumbles, pulling out those gym clothes she saw him in all the way back at the start of this. Before she can leave, he goes to take his shirt off  she makes a noise of some description, a noise that startles both of them. Artemis pauses, his pajama shirt over his head but still on his arms.

 “I’m still here,” Holly says nervously. She can properly see what she couldn’t in that spa, the faint etchings of his inguinal crease creeping below the line of his pants, the flex of his triceps. Artemis has always been skinny, but now he’s just slim, his recent attention to his health and the passing of time growing him into that _body-_

 Artemis raises a brow at her, amused. “You are indeed,” he smiles, the voice still rough from sleep, a tinge of apology in his voice.

 Holly clears her throat, finding herself quite unable to look away from him.

 “The door’s behind you, Commander,” he says after a long, laden pause, and that smile inches into a wolfish grin. It borders on smugness; Holly feels the blood rush to her cheeks and she hastily leaves as he tosses the top onto his bed.

 The door clicks shut behind her and she crouches down, pressing her cool fingers to her face.

 “Oh _no_ ,” she mumbles into her hands.

He’s _hot._

 

-

 

Artemis pulls on the leggings, deep within an internal debate.

  _She was flustered._ Delight.

  _Wouldn’t_ you _be flustered if you saw your best friend topless?_ Logic.

  _She was… what’s the phrase? She was checking me_ out. Triumph.

  _She was embarrassed because you_ stripped _in front of her in your half asleep buffoonery._ Frustration.

 He slips on a thick fleece jumper and zips it all the way up to his neck, then puts on his socks and sneakers.

  _She was speechless_ and _staring at my lower abdominal region._ Glee.

  _There isn’t very much there, though._

 _That_ voice is pure Holly, and he reigns in his joy, his _hope_ , even as in the back of his mind he adjusts the calculations of the likelihood of Holly ever returning his interest.

 It’s about four percent higher, in the double digits now, and the thought sets him in good cheer as he and Holly start hiking up the hilly ranges, sets him against the cool wind sneaking across his ankles.

 Holly is significantly quieter than usual, eyes locked ahead of her. Part of him feels guilty, but part of him is selfishly exuberant at the blush still covering her cheeks. It’s one thing to be awkward after such an interaction, but Holly is far too quiet for it to be a simple as that. She would have said something pithy about his skinny arms, or something biting about his shoulders, if she wasn’t unaffected.

 The thought makes his heart soar, but the hiking helps that part of him settle, a satisfying burn building in his calves and thighs as his mind falls empty besides the motion of walking. He may never be a runner, but he can appreciate the concept of hiking, of the long game and the scenery. The sun starts to rise just as they come around the side of the lake, opposite where the house is, and Holly nods, strategically squatting on a rock to watch.

 Artemis’s jacket covers his backside, so he sits next to her, the cold stone still radiating through the fabric.

 It’s an undeniably, if stereotypically, glorious tableau. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and exhales, the sting of the cold on his warm cheeks a pleasant contrast.

 “I suppose it was worth it,” he admits.

 “What was?” Holly says.

 “Your dragging me from my peaceful slumber to climb up a mountain for nearly an hour just to see the sun.”

 Holly is silent for a moment, then scoffs. It’s such a characteristically _Holly_ thing to do that he laughs.

 “You call _that_ a mountain?” She says, and goes on to tell him about how in the academy they climbed little hills like that for _fun_ , with _rocks_ on their back and _weights_ on their ankles. He can’t help but think she’s exaggerating (if only because as far as he knows, Haven doesn’t have _hills_ ), but he lets her continue, if only because she’s clearly relieved to be back in the safety of their banter.

 She does glance at his arms a few times, but Artemis graciously pretends not to notice.

 

-

 

After the hike, Artemis goes back to bed for a little nap. Holly, who feels energised, decides to do some body weight exercises on the porch, and to not think at _all_ about Mud Men Bodies.

 Her muscles groan at first after a few weeks off, but she falls back into routine easily, doing a circuit of planks, push ups and sit ups, before moving onto squats and lunges, and finally, star jumps.

 She does these until she physically can’t anymore, plops down on the chair out on the verandah while her heart rate slows. But she’s still restless; goes into the cool down stretches, ends with a few minutes of meditation, but even then, her fingers are twitchy. She stretches her arms over her head as she yawns, and accidentally catches a whiff of her underarms.

Maybe a shower will settle her nerves, she thinks, and takes a change of clothes and a fresh towel in with her. She needs some good old fashioned _me_ time.

 She has to use her own shampoo and conditioner, her own soap, because the Mud Men ones, _of course_ , are too full of chemicals for her skin. Soon the scent of elderflower fills the room, and she gets to scrubbing away the layers of sweat, lets the hot water ease her legs.

 But even after she rinses her conditioner, she can’t relax. It’s not until she shifts her legs a certain way, still slippery with her body wash; a low warmth zips up her stomach.

 Ah. Right. She hasn’t masturbated in literally _weeks_. No wonder she’s so antsy.

 Holly rinses the rest of the body wash off. The bathroom fan is on, the shower is loud, and the door is locked, check, check, _check._

 Holly’s never been shy of sex, has always enjoyed taking the lead in the bedroom. Masturbation is no different; she has several toys at home, a very secret subscription to a sex-positive pornography service. Holly knows what she wants, which is why she’s so surprised when her tried and true masturbation fantasy doesn’t bring her to orgasm.

 She’s so close, her muscles tensed and her back prickling as she touches herself, warm and good, but she can’t _get_ there. She’s panting, coiled, desperate for release, and unbidden, Artemis’s bare arms, bare chest, come to mind. His sleep-rough voice and that smug animal smile that made a flush roll _deep_ down to her belly-

 She comes, and comes _hard_ , the only thing stopping her from startling the wildlife in a twenty mile vicinity her own hard clapped quickly over her mouth; even so, a short noise escapes, and she can only hope the shower and fan muffled it. Holly stands there for a few minutes, all the tension running out of her body like the water slipping down her legs. She washes herself again, and then steps out of the shower, stares at herself in the mirror.

 Holly genuinely never thought of Artemis like that after her gross behaviour. She thinks, truly, it really was a moment of hormones and fear, relief he was alive. An explanation, but not an excuse, as she phrased it to him later. She had never actively thought of him like that since. There had been a few dreams for the first couple of days, but she had woken up uncomfortable and unaroused, her reasonable adult body unmoved. Once her and Artemis had talked, the dreams stopped entirely.

 But _this_. This is… she hasn’t come like that from her own fingers since she was in college.

 The red patches high on her cheeks, and Holly grimaces. Artemis may now be a consenting adult, but this is still far too inappropriate, shame heavy and hot. She splashes cool water on her face, practices some mindful thinking.

  _This is all the product of sexual frustration,_ she tells herself. _And you latched on to the person you’ve spent a lot of time with recently. That’s all._

 She brushes her teeth. When she gets back to Haven, she’s going on a few dates for sure, no questions asked, hands _down_ it is time to get some regular sex back in her life.

 The notion makes her queasy, and she ignores it, dismissing it as jitters after a long dry spell, because it absolutely must _not_ be anything else.

 

-

 

Artemis lies in bed, hears the shower turn off, heat low and warm in his belly, and can not believe what he just heard.

 Perhaps it was a noise of pain? She had woken him up with her thundering star jumps out on the porch, so surely she must have been doing intensive exercise. Surely she was just sore.

 Artemis closes his eyes again, replaying that sound in his head, burnt into his brain like a hot iron.

 He had been answering a text from Butler when a low, throaty keen rang out, muffled by the shower and the walls, before it abruptly cut off.

 No. It had been too sweet to be pain. And he is very certain Holly would have stretched out appropriately after her workout. And it can’t have been something like her stubbing her toe, because Artemis has heard her do that before and she usually just swears. Loudly.

 But that was no _d’arvit_ , there’s only one thing it could realistically be; the image it evokes moves him. If before he was exuberant with possibility, his heart light, this is something far more dangerous, far more adult.

 Unbridled lust, and he can’t stop thinking about that _noise_ , what does she sound like untethered? She clearly isn’t quiet, and oh does _that_ have him hard. Before, he thought of innocent romantic moments, but now he’s touching himself with that _sound_ ringing in his ears, her lips brushing down his neck, cupping her breast and running a hand against her ass-

—

“I’m taking a shower,” Artemis says.   
“Enjoy,” Holly says, feeling much better, and gets to making them both some coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOF this one was a little more spicy than usual... i hope u all enjoyed..
> 
> i'm going to be pretty much awol for the second half of the year, so i'm planning to speed through and ideally have this fic finished by September!!!! we're almost halfway by my rough plotting.... and dare i say.. the next couple of chapters will be Very Spicy Indeed


	10. rococo architecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis takes Holly to a library. She isn't very impressed.
> 
> or; Artemis commits several faux pas, and Holly is a little shaken by them.

Holly isn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of visiting an old Mud People library, but Artemis is the most excited she’s ever seen him at the idea. This is how they come to St Gallen, three hours north east of the lake they stayed at the night before. Tomorrow, they drive through to Germany. 

 On the way to St Gallen, it strikes Holly that they’re over halfway through this trip now, according to Artemis’s itinerary. Something in her stomach lurches at the thought.

 “It’s been a long time since I visited  _ Stiftsbibliothek _ ,” Artemis says brightly. “I would have been a child at the time.”

 “What’s so exciting about a library?” Holly says, bemused. “It’s not like an art museum.”

 “It’s  _ exactly _ like an art museum,” Artemis says happily. “Just with fewer pictures.”

 “But that’s the whole  _ point _ of an art museum,” Holly says in exasperation.

 When they arrive in St Gallen, though, Holly is completely charmed. It’s full of tiny little streets with tall houses, a park or garden almost at every corner. She feels like she’s stepped back several hundred years.

 They stop at a little cafe to eat some lunch; Artemis all but devours a cheese fondue, while Holly nibbles on some  _ merroni _ , hot and roasted. Then, he essentially drags Holly to the library she’s unfortunately heard so much about.

 But it’s a nice day outside, the wind cool on her cheeks and the sun warm on her face, so she lets him. 

 He keeps walking a little bit ahead of her in his excitement, then realising she’s several steps behind; he’ll pause, fall back, and then do the same thing again.

 It’s cute, she can’t help but think, and then has that traitorous memory of her touching herself to him. 

 She walks faster, after that.

 

-

 

Artemis leads them through the old monastery and comes to the doors he remembers so well. Opening those doors to the library, he immediately feels at home, the Rococo shelves and the polished floors like old friends. The smell of leather and wood embraces him and he sighs, content.

 “Yeah, it’s pretty nice I guess,” Holly admits next to him.

 He’s affronted. “Pretty  _ nice _ ?” He gestures at the library in its magnificence, careful to keep his voice down. “This library holds over two thousand manuscripts dating back over a thousand years, and is a monument to the Rococo movement. It’s the perfect example of a Carolingian monastery!”

 Holly shrugs. “How do you know what section the books are in? Seems badly designed.”

 Exasperated, Artemis puts his hands on his hips, for extra sternness. “Come here,” he says, reaching down and grabbing her hand, towing her to a nearby shelf. He notices, inevitably, how warm her hand is, how her pulse twinges, thrums, and how startlingly well it fits in his.

 They come to the shelf, and Artemis motions to an engraving of a cherub with his other hand.

 “Do you see this?”

 “No,” Holly drawls. “I made it this far as a cop without a single ounce of observatory skill.”

 “Notice how the cherub is using a telescope?” Artemis asks her. He notices, significantly, that she hasn’t tugged her hand from his yet.

 She shrugs. “Sure.” 

 “This section is dedicated to astronomy,” Artemis explains.

 “Oh,” Holly says. “That’s… pretty cute, actually.”

 “And look at the ceilings,” he says, motioning upwards. “The dense, theatrical ornamentality. This is the Baroque period at its  _ finest _ , Holly. This building  _ is _ the painting in an art museum.”

 He’s pleased to see that reluctant admiration as she looks at the building again, looking at it from that approach.

 “Okay,” she admits. “I see why you like it so much, even if it’s not my style.”

 “That’s all I can ask for,” he says, smiling down at her.

 Their hands are still interlaced, and he almost doesn’t want to move, for fear of reminding her. She’s still looking around, and he sneaks a peek at their hands, committing the image of her dark skin against his, how her hands are rough and strong.

 His chest swells and before he can stop himself, he rubs his thumb along her knuckle in a gentle circle.

 Holly stiffens, tugs her hand away.

 “I’m going to go look at more of those engravings,” she says, a flush high on her cheeks, and leaves him there amongst the shelves.

 

-

 

Holly stares blankly down at an engraving of a cherub playing with an antique globe of the Earth, absently shaking her hand like she’s burnt it.

 What was  _ that _ ? That gentle brush of his thumb, him looking down at her with those spots of red excitement high on his cheeks. 

 Are Mud People platonic touchers? She casts her mind back, eyes narrowing as she combs through her years of training and studies. She knows generally it’s the women who are, but in some East Asian cultures, the men can be too…  Butler is Eurasian, but then, he didn’t exactly bring Artemis up in that cultural environment, and she wouldn’t call Butler  _ cuddly,  _ so that’s not an excuse…

 She can still feel his hand there, how it almost dwarfed hers, fine boned and cool and why didn’t she just tug her hand out right away? But he had been so fiery, so  _ passionate  _ about this stupid library, and-

 Holly closes her eyes, counts to ten. And then counts to twenty. She ends up counting to eighty three, and by then she’s calmed down a bit.

_ Artemis is one of your closest friends, _ she reminds herself.  _ And he got excited about sharing something he cared about with you.  _ You’re _ making this weird, not him. _

__ (What’s weirder is how she misses the feel of his hand, but she ignores that, adding it to the pile of reasons she Needs A Date.)

 She does like this place, though. She can feel the history in it, in a way you can’t much in Haven, anymore. When everyone lives for a long time, there’s not much interest in things that are old.

 Holly takes a seat by the window, looking up at the ceiling and its paintings. There’s a particularly lovely one she can’t help but return her gaze to, a feminine woman in a garden, clad in thick gauzy dress, looking away at someone unseen, with a smile on her face. 

 “That one is particularly lovely,” an elderly lady who’s passing by says to her in accented English. Holly replies in Swiss, and the older lady’s answering smile is huge.

 “Who is it?” Holly asks.

 “I don’t know,” the lady says. “But she’s in love, I guarantee it.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Look at how she smiles! Not to mention, how she’s baring her collarbones. Do you know much about Rococo as a style, my dear?”

 “That it’s… dense? And theatrical?”

 The old woman shakes her head. “Yes, but that’s not what it’s  _ about _ . It’s about the celebration of the feminine, the sexuality of women!”

 Holly looks back at the painting. “It  _ is _ quite lovely,” she says, mentally putting on her art student glasses, at the softness, the light colors. “Love suits her.”

 “And it suits  _ you _ ,” the old lady says knowingly.

 “Pardon?”

 “You and your boyfriend are quite the couple,” she says. Holly flushes.

 “Uh,” she says articulately. The lady pats her on the shoulder, winks, and shuffles off.

 Holly sits there, dumbfounded, until Artemis comes and finds her.

 

-

 

She’s a lot quieter that night at dinner, which makes Artemis feel guilty. He pushed too far today, he thinks. 

 But he doesn’t know how to make it up to her. Will acknowledging their hand hold make it worse? Should he pretend he meant nothing by it?

 He doesn’t want to pretend, he thinks, a fierceness that startles him. 

 “So what are we doing in Germany?” Holly asks quietly over her  _ rosti _ . Artemis latches on to the topic.

 “A few things,” he says, ticking them off his fingers. “First, we’ll go to Freiburg for a couple of days. It’s a town noted for its walking trails through the Black Forest, which I think you’ll particularly enjoy. After that, a day trip to Heidelberg, and then over to Nuremberg for the weekend. And then we can make our way to Denmark by plane.”

 “Wait,” Holly frowns. “Denmark’s past Ireland.”

 He shrugs. “Well, yes. But I’m quite keen for us to take a week in Norway. After that,  _ then _ back to Ireland.”

 She’s awfully quiet.

 “What’s wrong?”

 She shrugs. “I thought the trip was going to be longer.”

 He laughs, but feels warm at her tone of disappointment. “We’ve been gone for nearly two months,” he points out.

 Holly lets out a low whistle, sitting back in her chair. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

 “Well, time  _ does _ fly when you’re having fun.”

 “It’s been a lovely trip,” she admits. “You’d make a great travel agent.”

 “I’m very glad to hear that,” he says sincerely, hiding his relief. Holly picks up a little after that, as they talk about the Rococo period, and she tells him about the funny old lady she talked to at  _ Stiftsbibliothek. _

__ “Well, she’s not wrong,” he admits. “The Rococo period is definitely about the feminine.”

 “I’ve never seen art like that,” Holly muses. “It’s not something that elven art focuses on.”

 “There must be a classical period somewhat similar?”

 She shakes her head. “I think the closest would be the  _ bòirc’ad _ period.”

 “Finally,” Artemis says. “A word I  _ don’t _ know.”

 “You’re the only human fluent in Gnommish,” Holly laughs. “I won’t begrudge you for it.”

 “What does it mean, though?”

 She frowns, thinking. “The closest translation would probably be beauty,” she eventually says. “But it’s more specific than that? It’s referring to the beauty of the body, specifically. Sometimes it’s referred to as the  _ dìreaoh _ period.”

 “The intimacy period?”

 She nods. “Most of the artwork is very stylised. It reminds me that painting you showed me with the man and women embracing. It had the gold leaf overlay, with all the patterns? Like that.”

 “It sounds quite lovely. Klimt  _ is  _ an exceptional painter.”’ 

 She shrugs. “Unfortunately it was a pretty brief period, just before photography technology was developed in the 1700’s.”

 “What would my name be in Gnommish?” Artemis asks mischievously, but also curiously.

 Holly snorts. “You already have one in the LEP.”

 “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this,” he says. “Well, what is it?”

 “I didn’t come up with it,” she tells him, looking a little embarrassed. “Okay?”

 “Alright.”

 “ _ Son _ _ eòin _ _ ‘or _ ,” she says reluctantly. “But I don’t use it myself.”

 He thinks. “It’s something to do with wanting gold, isn’t it?”

 “An extensive translation would be ‘chicken who is greedy for gold’,” she confirms, and he laughs delightedly. “But some of the younger fairies who weren’t around when you stole from us are a little... kinder.”

 “And what do they call me?”

 She looks away. “ _ Leaca _ . Short for  _ Lea’nancarai _ .”

 He’s surprised. “Fairy lover?”

 But then, he thinks on that word a little more.  _ Lea’nan  _ may mean lover, but not in the same meaning of being appreciative of something; in certain contexts, he know it translates to  _ sweetheart _ .

Holly is a little red on her cheeks, and he suspects there’s more to this name than she’s letting on, but doesn’t push it. He’s done enough of that today.

-

 

They stay that night along the German-Swiss border, overlooking  _ Bodensee _ , Lake Constance, along a little town near the waterfront in a little cottage.

 They’ve brought back some fresh fruit, which Holly cuts and plates as Artemis chats on the phone to his brothers, who are anxiously awaiting the return of their favourite elven commander.

 “Holly and I will be back in three weeks at the most,” he assures Beckett, who Holly can see pouting on screen.

 “ _ But I want to show her my new judo moves  _ now _ ,”  _ Beckett whines.

 “Why don’t you get Juliet to record you,” Artemis suggests fondly. “And then I can show Holly?”

 “ _ No, _ ” Beckett sighs. “ _ I want to do them  _ on _ Holly.” _

 Holly laughs in the background. “I promise you it’ll be the first thing I do when I get back, Beck,” she says loudly. Artemis angles the phone’s camera towards her. “Your brother isn’t much good for wrestling.”

 “ _ What are you even doing over there? _ ” Beckett asks.

 “Sightseeing,” Artemis replies. “And eating a lot.”

 “ _ Did you go to  _ Stiftsbibliothek _?”  _ Miles asks, pushing his brother to the side a little. 

 “We did,” Artemis nods. “Holly didn’t like it that much.”

 “ _ What’s a stifsbiblek _ ?” Beckett asks Miles.

 “ _ A really old library,” _ Miles tells him.  _ “Dad says it’s really pretty.” _

 “It was,” Holly says defensively. “I didn’t mind it  _ that _ much.”

 “ _ Juliet says you took Holly on this trip to make o-” _

_  “My turn, _ ” Juliet says hastily, taking the phone from them, and the screen is a blur of hands until it rests on her face. “How are my two favourite people? How’s Switzerland?”

 “Lots of old buildings,” Holly says solemnly. “And weird statues.”

 “You liked Bern,” Artemis protests. “You thought the statues were funny.”

 “ _ Be honest, Arty, _ ” Juliet says. “ _ You aren’t boring her to death, are you?” _

__ “I most certainly am  _ not _ ,” he says indignantly. “What’s boring about 17th century architecture?”

 Juliet meets Holly’s eyes significantly over the top of Artemis’s head. 

 “It’s been lovely,” Holly assures her.

 “ _ Good _ ,” she says, satisfied. “ _ Butler was worried he might just be dragging you from building to building. _ ”

 “Has no-one any faith in me?” Artemis grumbles.

 “He’s being very considerate.”

 “ _ I bet he is, _ ” Juliet says in a strange tone.

 “ _ And now it’s  _ my  _ turn, _ ” Comes a deep voice, exasperated, and the phone is clearly taken off Juliet and comes to rest on Butler’s face.

 “Butler!” Holly says.

 “ _ I’m glad to hear the trip is going well. How were Minerva and Cathy?” _

__ “They were lovely,” she says. “Very happy and very much in love.”

 “ _ I’m glad to hear it. Artemis, your parents send their regards from America. They had to go on a last minute trip for a charity event, but should be back by the time you and Holly return home. _ ”

 Holly can’t explain it, but the way Butler says  _ home _ , the way he somehow expands that word to include her, is significantly warming. For some reason, it makes her a little nervous, too.

 “We should be back in nineteen days,” Artemis confirms. “Thank you again for your assistance earlier on in the trip, old friend.”

 “ _ My pleasure,”  _ Butler says gravely. “ _ I’m going to put these ragamuffins to bed. Talk soon.” _

__ The call disconnects, and Holly carries the fruit over to the little sitting area. The lights are only on in the kitchen, and it’s half dark over here so they can look out and enjoy the lake and its stars.

 “What are you going to do after we return?” Artemis asks her, taking a strawberry.

 She shrugs. “I’ll still have about a month and a half or so of leave left. I’m not too sure.”

 “You’re very welcome to stay with us a little longer,” Artemis tells her.

 “That’s nice of you,” she says, and means it. “But I think I’ll go to Haven for a bit- go see the god-kids, hang out with Mulch.”

 “Of course,” Artemis says, and is it her imagination or does he look a little disappointed? “Perhaps you can show me Haven’s city life?”

 She laughs, picturing it. “Sure. Can’t imagine  _ that _ will go badly.”

 The couch they sit on is small, so it’s hard to miss how Artemis shifts at that, his thigh resting against hers as he turns to face her.

 “I’m serious,” he says, reaching for another berry. “If I can take you on a tour of Europe and not get you in trouble, surely I can go to  _ Haven _ .”

 “Yes, being half a meter taller than anyone will not at  _ all  _ be a logistical nightmare.”

 “We can go see that awful movie adaption they made of when we first met,” Artemis suggests, and Holly groans.

 “I would rather die,” Holly says loudly. “For one thing, the actress is  _ too _ pretty.”

 Artemis raises a brow. “But you  _ are _ pretty,” he says. “Stunning, in fact.”

 Holly feels the blood in her cheeks and opts not to focus on this. 

 “Not to mention,” Artemis adds, “Her being pretty doesn’t stop her from taking down the Big Bad Mud Man.”

 “No, but her two inch heels and tight uniform do,” Holly fires back. “That movie? Is an  _ atrocity _ . And don’t get me started on the parody porno sequel-”

 She cuts herself off. Artemis stares at her.

 “ _ What _ ?” he says gleefully.

 Holly throws her hands in the air. “I didn’t say that. Not at all.”

 “If you don’t elaborate on that statement,” he says, “I’ll ask Mulch.”

 Holly colors, thinking of how Mulch would react to  _ that. _ “Alright, alright. There may be a pornography company in Haven that specialised in adult films which, you know, parody famous movies.”

 “I’m familiar with the concept,” Artemis says impatiently.

 “And they  _ may  _ have filmed and released the atrociously named, so called  _ sequel _ , to the equally atrocious  _ Holly Short in: The Fowl Files _ .” She takes a deep breath. “It’s called  _ Whorely Short in: the Fowl Trials. _ ”

 Artemis starts laughing. “It’s called  _ what _ ?”

 “It focuses on your trial as an adult man several years later where for some reason I’m a sexy judge who you seduce to get your jail time shortened.”

 Artemis howls with laughter. It’s a loud, deep, rough thing that seems to erupt from his stomach and explode out his mouth.

 She waits for him to finish.

 “That  _ is _ atrocious,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “And I’m sorry you had to deal with that being out there, in the world,” he adds, a little more sincerely. “I can imagine that wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

 “Oh, don’t be. The LEP sued them and won easily. Foaly did an Earthwide search to remotely destroy any copies left of it.” Holly grimaces. “It was an extremely uncomfortable few days, though.”

 “When was this?” Artemis asks.

 She shrugs, looks away. “Before you came back,” she says quietly, and Artemis immediately understands.

 “I’m sorry I laughed,” he says, just as quietly. She laughs herself.

 “Oh, it’s funny  _ now _ ,” she admits. “At the time though? Not so much.”

 She remembers; remembers waking up to a text from Mulch who had linked it to her. She had gone straight to work, straight to the Law and Proceedings office, and lodged a very heavily handed complaint.

 The next two days, it had spread like wildfire- not because people had believed a word of it, but because it was apparently so awful it rounded into funny, and then Foaly had gotten permission to aggressively shut the whole thing down after a very hasty and very  _ quick  _ trial.

 Holly had spent those days in her apartment, pretending nothing had happened, and that her friend wasn’t still dead under the ground.

 Perhaps this shows on her face; Artemis places his hand over hers.

 “Well, I’m here now,” he says. 

 She huffs. “Yeah, I suppose you are.”

 He pats her hand, and then goes to move away. She traps it, and there they are holding hands. Again.

_ Strictly a platonic token of thanks, _ she tells herself.

 “I’m glad you made it back,” she says gruffly, looking at the elegant bones of his hand.

 She can feel his pulse- usually slower than hers- racing. But his face betrays nothing but warmth.

 “As am I,” he says. “Thank you for not going to wash your forehead immediately,” he adds, and she laughs.

 “Yeah, I have to say,  _ not  _ your most airtight plan.”

 He shrugs. “Ah, but it worked in the end.” They seperate their hands, but they remain close, fingers brushing fingers often enough.

 The two of them sit in silence, eating fruit; watching boats on the river pass by, watching the water ripple and shift the reflections of the moon and stars.

 “You have the last piece of apple,” Artemis says.

 “No, I’m fine,” Holly says automatically. But she immediately regrets it, because the apple was  _ really _ nice.

 “Why don’t we share,” Artemis suggests, and bites off half of the apple, passes the other half to her.

 Holly takes it very hesitantly, cheeks red. 

 Does Artemis have any idea what that gesture means, in elven culture? Of course he doesn’t, she scolds herself. Since when have they ever physically shared a bite of food? 

 It’s one thing to share a  _ plate  _ of food, but another to share something another person has  _ bitten _ . It’s something lovers do, something of intimacy and  _ weight _ . If Artemis was an elf, and she ate this apple, it would be tantamount to an acceptance of courtship.

 But Artemis isn’t an elf, she reminds herself.  _ You’re being weird again. _

 She eats the apple, and pretends that she isn’t blushing the entire time.

 

-

 

Even as Artemis offers her the other half of the apple slice, he remembers that Holly is an  _ elf _ , and that this offer has cultural connotations he’s completely neglected to consider. Even if they’re extremely relevant.

 But before he can laugh at his own mistake,  _ she takes it. _

 And she’s blushing the entire time too,  _ and she doesn’t even correct him on his cultural faux pas _ , which Holly doesn’t usually shy away from, and if before the chance of them potentially being together was approximately twelve percent, now it’s thirty nine.

 That night, as Artemis lies in bed, it occurs to him that this might not be such a far fetched hope after all, and it sends him off to sleep warm and smiling like a complete buffoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE SO LOVELY THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT as of this chapter we are over 100 pages and at 35,000 words and, most important, almost at the Good Shit.. thanks for all the comments and kudos!!!! next chapter should be up roughly the same time next week.


	11. fall goeth before the pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis sees the void; Holly loses her footing.
> 
> Or;
> 
> Their paths finally intersect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi time to die!

Artemis has always liked Germany; liked the language, the people, the architecture. It’s nice to be back. Freiburg is a town he’s always heard good things about, and standing in its Museum of Modern Art, he’s pleasantly surprised by how sleek it is. Holly, despite her self-professed distaste for modern art in general, is also impressed.

 She has no pattern for what she’s drawn to; it might be an abstract picture of colors, a wooden carving of a block man. He can’t form a pattern for what interests her, as they walk room to room. Some of the art is wonderful, some of it uninspired, some of it down right ugly.

 But one particular room frightens Artemis the moment he walks in. The floors have been covered with reflective black resin, the walls painted matte black; the lighting has been set up so that the single block of red crystal hanging from the ceiling seems to glow, and he can’t tell where the floor’s reflection and the walls begin.

 He couldn’t say what it is that disturbs him so, until he sees the little plaque near the doorway with the artist’s description: _Rose._ His breath catches in his chest.

 “Are you okay?” Holly asks him, when she sees him standing still and blank. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, he thought he was _better_. So he just shakes his head.

 “Let’s go to a different room,” he says very quietly. He can’t stop staring at that red block of crystal.

 Holly follows his line of sight, looks back at him.

 “Okay,” she says, clearly confused, but not going to press him on it. He all but flees the sight of that darkness, that deep light.

 

-

 

She’s very worried about Artemis. They leave the museum and step into the sun and he seems to be okay the moment they do. But she’s seen this before in combat, and she knows now that Butler was, unfortunately, right.

 What triggered him? He hasn’t spoken to her much about that space in between, and she had assumed he doesn’t remember it, if there was anything to remember.

 Holly doesn’t know how to broach this topic.

  _Hey, so you have PTSD!_

_Artemis, you just had a panic attack in there!_

_Butler told me you have some mental health problems!_

She can’t say any of these, of course. She glances up at him as they make their way to the restaurant for lunch. He looks fine, but back in that room, his eyes had been blank and his face pale, and she had been reminded of that empty body before he had clawed his way back into it.

 They have fresh baked pastries for lunch. Artemis is very quiet, and if Holly didn’t know better, she’d say _embarrassed_. All of her worries about their physical closeness lately fall away at the sight of him prodding at the crumbs on his plate.

 “I liked that room with the statues,” she offers, as if nothing is wrong.

 Artemis nods. “As did I.” But he doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t offer an explanation about the cultural context or the art style, like he usually does.

 “So,” Holly tries. “Where next?”

 He checks his watch. “We could go to the Black Forest along their trails, or we could go to _Alter Friedhof_ , an old but apparently lovely cemetery.”

 Holly thinks the last thing Artemis needs right now is to be surrounded by gravestones.

 “Let’s go back to the hotel and get changed, then go for a walk,” she suggests. Artemis pays the bill, and doesn’t say anything the whole way back to town.

 

-

 

Artemis is mortified, angry, _stunned_ that some idiotic postmodern art installation _did that to him._

 He tugs on his walking clothes with a vengeance, Holly’s worried gaze burnt into his head. What is he even going to say to her if she asks him? _Oh, don’t worry about me, it just reminded me of the time I spent a year suspended in the void and how I gradually began to forget who I was and why I was even holding on to life. No big deal, as the kids say._

He tucks his down jacket on, frowning. He thought he had this under control, and it’s troubling that he doesn’t, not to mention _insulting_. He’s a qualified psychologist, for God’s sake.

 But he isn’t the prideful child he once was, either, which is why he sends Butler a message requesting that he set Artemis up with a psychologist upon his return. Sending the message makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel like admitting his defeat, but Minerva’s stern face appears in his mind’s eye, and he knows he’s done the right thing.

 

-

 

Artemis is still pretty quiet as they ease through the forest, those piercing eyes looking far off in the distance. He’s not _there_ with her. She doesn’t know where he’s gone.

 The forest is lovely, at least, and the color is back in his face. It’s brisk, biting, but the warm sun dappling through the trees takes the edge off, makes it pleasant. Even despite her worry, Holly is still enjoying herself; how can she not, surrounded by this much nature?

 “It’s lovely,” she says, trying to coax a conversation out of him. He looks like she’s jerked him out of a nap, the way he looks at her, startled.

 “Yes,” he says.

 “So…” she tries again. “What’s the history here?”

 “Various wars between peasants, a hurricane or two.”

 “Wow,” she says. “That’s the most abridged version of an explanation I think you’ve ever given me.”

 He huffs a little chuckle, and glances at her. “Don’t get used to it.”

 But he starts pointing out a particular species of tree every now and then, stops her once to show her some animal tracks. Slowly, his expression picks back up, and when he stops her to point out how a particular tree is growing due to damage from a natural disaster centuries old, she makes her move.

 “So,” she says casually. “What happened back at the museum?”

 He doesn’t answer immediately, staring at the branch he was showing her.

  “It was like I was back in the void,” he says very quietly. He still doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t know what to say, so she lets him keep talking.

  “I stepped into that room,” he continues, “And it was like I was back in that dark, depthless ocean, and it was just me again. Alone.”

 She puts a hand on his forearm encouragingly.

 “I thought I was past this. It’s... discouraging.”

 “I’m sorry, Artemis,” Holly says. “Is there anything I can do?”

 He looks at her with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve arranged to see a psychologist when we return.”

 “Oh,” Holly says, trying to hide her surprise. “That’s… extremely logical of you.”

 “I’m the most logical person you know,” Artemis says, raising a brow.

 Holly grimaces. “I’m just surprised you’re so... “

 “Willingly subjecting myself to the hands of another person, foregoing my pride and hubris in the progress?” Artemis finishes her words.

 Holly nods.

 He shrugs. “I’m not the arrogant child I once was, Holly. I’d be a fool to leave this unchecked, when I have the means and money to help myself.”

  “Look at you, all grown up,” Holly says. He glances down at her.  
  “Well, that’s what happens when time passes,” he says a little dryly.

  She punches him very, very lightly in the hip, and they both keep walking.

  “What was it like?” she asks him hesitantly. “The… the void.”

  “Lonely,” he says simply. “It felt like everything I had ever lived was a lie, and that I had finally been told the truth. And the more I was there, the less of that lie I could remember.” He looks at her. “If I had been there any longer, I think I would scattered across the void like mist.”

 She reaches out for his hand wordlessly, and they walk like that just for a little while, anchoring each other.

 “There are old fairy books that speak about that place,” she tells him. “According to the old writings, we come from there, and we end up there.”

 His hand tightens around hers. “I certainly hope not. _To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot_...  it is not something which appeals to me.”

 She squints at him. “Is that a quote?”

 “Couldn’t resist,” he says a little sheepishly. “Shakespeare is an indulgence of mine.”

 “You _would_ take the opportunity,” she says, but there’s no bite in it. She lets go of his hand, their fingers brushing apart like unwinding fabric, and there’s that spark again between them.

 “Are you afraid of death, Holly?”

 She shrugs, kicking a pebble. “Considering how many times I’ve nearly died, it feels a little anticlimactic at this point.”

 He laughs. “Well, what are you afraid of, then?”

 She doesn’t immediately answer, the question marinating. The answer comes to her, but she doesn’t like it, and instead says, “I don’t know. What about you?”

 “I hate to say something so cliche, but probably lying on my deathbed and realising I was full of regret.”

 “Guess you’re human after all, huh?” Holly smiles.

 He shrugs. “There isn’t too much I can do about that,” he says, and looks away even as he says it.

 Something in Holly warms at the words, but she doesn’t really know why.

 

-

 

 Artemis knocks on Holly’s door, and when she calls out in the positive, he comes in.

 She’s folding some clothes in her suitcase, and looks up at him.

 “What’s up?”

 He sits gingerly on the very edge of the bed. “Would you be terribly opposed to staying in tonight, Holly?”

 She blinks at him. “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He feels obliged to explain. “It’s just been a long day, and I was thinking we could order in some food and take it easy.”

 “That’s fine,” she assures him. “I’m a little tired myself.”

 He watches her fold her clothes up for a while, watches how the pile is messy and not at _all_ functional.

 “You’re doing it wrong,” he says, before he can help it.

 “If _you_ want to fold my clothes,” Holly says, raising her brows, “Go ahead.”

 He rolls his sleeves up and kneels down on the ground next to her, gently bumping her so she moves over.

 “You fold it like _this_ ,” he says, folding the sleeves behind, and then folding the entire shirt on both edges, then flipping the bottom up. “See? Much neater.”

 She makes a huffing noise, but lets him keep going, and it turns into an almost meditative task that would be relaxing if the scent of her weren’t all around him.

 Artemis has never been this vulnerable with another person; even Minerva doesn’t know the extent of it, his fear that he was going to dissipate in that dark, endless place. He knows intellectually, that Holly would never make fun of him, but it had been difficult, still, to say that out loud.

 And here she is, pressed against his side, carefully folding her clothes like he’s shown her, that curved nose crinkling as she holds a folded shirt up, terribly wrinkled.

 “I don’t think this one is quite right,” she complains.

  He wants to kiss her.

 “It’s fine,” he says.

 He wants to kiss her.

 “Would _you_ fold your shirt like this?

_He wants to kiss her._

 “Well,” he says. “I’m not you.”

 She refolds it. All he can think about is how he wants to kiss her.

 But if he kisses her now- and if she doesn’t reciprocate- it’s going to ruin their trip. It’s going to ruin their friendship; and they’ll be stuck together until Butler can fly the private plane out for them, and then it’ll be a painful ride all the way back home, and Holly will be unhappy and uncomfortable-

 “Much better,” Holly declares.

 It would be so easy to just lean across, to let his hand come up and hold her face.

 Instead, he gets up, stretches. “My knees were getting sore,” he says. “I’m just… going to go to the bathroom.”

 He flees the room, and goes to the bathroom where he does what he’s lately gotten very good at; touching himself and pretending it’s her.

 He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. He’s going to really slip up soon, maybe he should cut the trip short? But he can’t do that, that would be rude, and suspicious, and not to mention Holly’s going to think he can’t stand her company, or something similarly bad-

 He bites into his forearm as he comes, cleans up, flushes the toilet to keep up appearances. He washes his hands and goes and gets a cold drink of water.

 Artemis feels a little calmer, and elects to return to his bedroom to read a book, away from Holly, except he keeps reading the same sentence over and over again, because apparently he’s a fourteen year old boy.

 He runs a hand down his face.

 “Get a hold of yourself, Fowl,” he mutters, and forces himself to focus on the book. After about fifteen minutes, it works; he eases into it and a few hours pass without him even realising, until his bladder starts to protest.

 After he relieves himself, he goes to the fridge to get some water and finds that it’s ten in the evening, and that Holly is asleep on the couch.

 Her hair is messy and she’s in that awful green and purple jumper, her combat shorts and socks. Of course, his heart swells. Artemis goes and closes all the curtains, sits just next to where her head lies.

 Holly snores just a tiny bit. He watches her for a few seconds, how her hair is that beautiful deep red in the lamplight, how her hand tucks under her cheek. He almost doesn’t want to move her, but she’s going to hurt her neck if he lets her stay here.

 Artemis reaches out and very gently shakes her shoulder.

 “Wake up, Holly.”

 She grumbles and he has to shake her again before she opens her doleful eyes.

 “What times it?” she asks him, turning onto her back and stretching out her limbs.

 “Time to go to sleep,” he says. “Unless you’re hungry?”

 She shakes her head. “I’m happy to go right to bed,” she yawns, and starts standing up.

  In the future, Artemis will never be quite sure how it happens; whether the low lighting and unfamiliar environment was the deciding factor, or whether it was her still in that half-sleep muddle. Regardless of what it is, Holly turns to walk past him and catches her foot on the sofa in the process; not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her lose her footing.

 Automatically, she tries to stop her fall; reaches out, stretches out her other leg. Except Artemis is there, so her knee falls between his thighs, and her hands land on the couch, on either side of his face. Her nose is almost touching his, and her eyes are wide.

 It’s a compromising position, and Artemis would be a liar if he said he wasn’t enjoying every moment of it.

 _It would be so, so easy to kiss you_ , Artemis thinks. Perhaps if he hadn’t touched himself only a few hours earlier, he would have. But that tenuous strand of self control holds, as he painstakingly waits for her to get off of him. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest at the sensation of her knee between the seam of him that he feels light headed.

 He can’t stop staring at her lips.

 She isn't moving.

 

-

 

Holly’s heart is pounding, as fast as if she were back at the Academy, doing sprints. She feels like she’s under a spell. If she didn’t know for a fact that Artemis had no magic left, she’d accuse him of using the _mesmer_. But there’s no magic here, no excuse for how she can’t bring herself to stand up, no reason she should be trembling at how she can feel his breath on her lips.

 Her hands fist in the couch. She should get up.

 But she can only think about his bare chest, the arch of his forearms. She swallows. Artemis, who of course, never misses a thing, tracks the movement, his eyelashes brushing the top of his cheeks as he looks down.

  _Gods, when did he get so handsome?_ Her lips part, and Artemis shifts, so imperceptibly, staring up at her.  She hovers there, unable to miss how Artemis is so still, but not in the way she knows him to be still out of fear, or distaste. It’s the stillness she sees when he’s waiting for her to catch up with his longer strides, the stillness of him explaining the history behind a painting and waiting for her questions attentively.

 It’s the stillness of him waiting for _her_ , but Holly can’t comprehend that thought, can only comprehend how warm he is, how the great Artemis Fowl has the tiniest beginning of laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, how his five o’clock shadow makes him look a little tired. She can smell that soft cologne of his, and then she’s moving, slowly, slowly, to meet his lips with hers. It’s the lightest touch, and for a split second, he doesn’t respond. But then he surges to meet her.

 It’s like lava, this feeling, molten rock, slow and hot and powerful. Her arm wraps around the back of his neck tugs him close to her, and his hands come to cup her face. He moans against her, the sound rough, and it sends that heat zipping straight down her, has her pressing her thigh against the crease of him. She swings her other leg over so she’s straddling him, and Artemis takes one hand from her face to cup her ass, drag her closer. At the feeling of that large hand, she pants into his mouth. He starts kissing down her neck, and then it’s biting, and now _she’s_ the one moaning, a hand clenched against his chest. She gently runs the pad of her thumb over where she can feel his nipple before she even realises she’s doing it. He clenches at the motion, fingers sinking into the swell of her ass.

 “ _Fuck,_ ” Artemis hisses, bucking up against her, and the spell over her breaks, _shatters_ , and she tenses up, scrambles to get off of him.

 They stare up at each other, rough kissed lips and heaving chests and burning red cheeks.

 “Holly,” Artemis tries, but his voice is still rough with it, with that slow heat, and she has her hands over her mouth, shaking her head.

 “I’m sorry,” is all she can say, and then she flees into her bedroom.

 

-

 

Artemis sits there with a throbbing erection and a heavy heart, his head in his hands.

 With fingers that feel like lead, he sends a message to Butler.

 It’s time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before y'all start cursing me.. this fic is only halfway thru.. we got a while to go yet lmfao THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT AS USUAL..... bless


	12. hangovers and takeaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go home. Artemis gets scolded; Holly cries.

When Artemis tells her the next morning that they’re to meet Butler at a local airport, the relief is palpable, but the plane ride back to Ireland is brutal. Excruciating, in fact. Holly has never felt so embarrassed or so ashamed in her life.

They sit at opposite ends of the plane, and every second passes like an hour, Artemis’s presence behind her a tangible weight. 

 She feels almost ill with it, grief for their friendship mingling in with the shame and the sheer self-disgust. Butler, consummate professional that he is, doesn’t say a word; but she can feel his questioning gaze on both of them as they board the plane.

 And she can’t even pass this off on him. For once, the great Artemis Fowl is blameless. She’s the one who leaned in, who touched him like she was going to fuck him, and now she’s the one who’s going to have to lie in this awful, awful bed she’s made for her, for  _ them _ .

 When they land, Holly all but sprints into the Fowl’s home, grabbing the few clothes she had left there. No one’s home, thank the  _ gods _ , and she’s lugging her suitcase out the door when Butler is suddenly in the middle of the doorway; Artemis, thankfully, appears to be still on the plane.

 “Holly,” Butler says slowly, and Holly almost immediately, childishly, wants to cry. “Is everything okay?”

 She adores Butler, but this is not a conversation she can have with him, have with  _ anyone _ , least of all right now, so she nods tersely.

 “Something came up,” she manages. “I have to return to Haven.”

 “Well, alright,” he says, looking entirely unconvinced. She gives him a terse hug, strides out into the yard. Artemis is walking down the plane’s steps as their eyes meet, and then she shimmers, and she’s gone.

 

-

 

“What did you do?” 

 Artemis looks up from his unpacking, a pair of pants in his hands. Butler fills the doorway, arms crossed.

 “Nothing,” he says mildly. Well, not strictly true, but he didn’t initiate anything,  _ or _ do anything  _ wrong _ .

 “I’ve never seen Holly that upset,” Butler says. “Are you sure you didn’t say something?”

 Artemis transfers his pants to his walk-in-robe, biding his time. He doesn’t know if he wants to talk to anyone about this. This wound is a fresh, gaping thing.

 “No,” he says. Again, not a lie. But he doesn’t offer any more information, and Butler sighs.

 “Artemis,” Butler says. “You know that you can talk to me, about… women, don’t you?”

 This startles a welcome chuckle out of Artemis. “Of course, old friend.”

 “But you aren’t going to talk to me about whatever happened, are you?”

 “Not right now,” Artemis says, truthfully. “I’d like to be by myself for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

 Butler inclines his head and closes the door, leaving Artemis alone with his thoughts, of which there are many.

 All he can think of is that horrified look on Holly’s face, mingled disgust and shame, and part of him quails at it. Had his math been so off? Does she really find him so repulsive?

 No, he tells himself. There is something else at play here; likely their difference in race, age, culture… for some reason he finds himself thinking of lemurs, again, and he frowns. 

 His math wasn’t  _ off _ , just missing something, he suspects. Some essential thing that explains why she looked so horrified.

 Artemis desperately wants to call her, but then he remembers that look in her eyes when she saw him, before she disappeared into the air. A look that said  _ don’t _ , so he doesn’t.

 He spends the rest of the day simply existing. He makes lunch, answers some emails, evades questions from the twins as to where Holly is, dodges Juliet’s attempts to interrogate him, and when  _ Minerva _ rings him, he decides he’s had quite enough. 

 He declines the call, puts on a thick jumper.  He takes a bottle of wine from the cellar and a book and then goes to sit on the cliff near the beachfront, far away from everyone. When he sits down on the little bench his father installed there for watching the sunset all those years ago, he realises he didn’t bring a wine glass. 

 “No time like the present,” he mutters to himself, and swigs directly from the bottle.

 

-

 

Her apartment is smaller than she remembers. Smaller, and colder, and emptier. Her suitcase sits in her bedroom like a corpse, still waiting to be unpacked, and Holly sits on her couch, stares blankly at the wall.

 She doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. 

 For the first time in a while, she wishes her mother was here. But she isn’t, so Holly pulls out her work out clothes and heads down to the building’s gym, intent on losing herself.

 Usually, Holly likes to do some cardio circuits, some weights, but today she goes straight to the holo treadmill. She picks an endless path through a field as her background, and starts  _ running. _

 It’s an outright sprint, at first; the field blurs past her. All she can do is  _ feel _ , her heart rerouting so much to her muscle that she almost feels dizzy, but that’s better than that steel weight in her gut.

 When she gets a cramp in her leg she eases it into a steady jog, letting her heart rate come back down a little, settling into the mindless smack of her feet against the treadmill’s belt. 

 She does this for an hour. It’s only when she has to stop to squat down, stretch out her legs, her head in her hands as she heaves for breath, she finally leaves.

 She supposes she should organise to see Mulch, or Foaly, or  _ someone _ , but the thought of having to face another fairy and pretend that she didn’t kiss a Mud Man, for the  _ second time _ , is too much to bear. She orders some takeaway instead and settles in for a long, lonely night.

 

-

 

Artemis wakes up the next morning with a savage hangover and no recollection of where he is. Why isn’t he in Germany? What happened?

 Somehow, the hangover pales in comparison to the moment he remembers, and he groans. rolls over into a ball. And then he realises he needs to throw up, so he drags himself into the ensuite bathroom and makes use of the porcelain throne.

 God, he feels awful. Disgusting. he can only picture how frightfully  _ millennial _ he must look. 

_ No wonder she looked so horrified _ , he thinks blearily, and then gags as last night’s wine comes up to say hello. 

 He shakily pulls his phone out of his pocket once he stops retching; nothing, of course. Between the pounding headache setting up shop in his temples, he wonders if maybe he  _ should _ message her. 

 He scolds himself, throws up again, and then drags himself over to the shower and sits in the hot water for a while, crashing down on his shoulders like an embrace. 

 He shouldn’t have had that wine. Not just because he feels like, to put it crudely, absolute  _ shit _ , but because he can’t just have one glass and leave it, especially not when he feels such a mess, he can’t  _ do _ this again, even if he remembers that glorious numbness of watching the stars spin above his head.

 Not to mention, the miniscule chance he has of he and Holly reconciling will only dwindle if he’s a drunken shambles when they see each other next.

 Artemis washes himself sluggishly, and somehow finds the strength to get out of the shower. Pulling on some fresh pajamas, he goes and lays back on the bed, eyes screwed shut.

 He motions at the intercom and it flicks on.

 “Butler,” Artemis groans. “Would you please bring me some ibuprofen and some water?”   
 “ _ I’ll be right there,” _ Butler replies back, and a minute or so later the door swings open.

 “Are you okay?” Butler asks him.

 “I may have, perhaps, possibly, made some bad choices,” Artemis groans, sitting up and taking the tablets and water. He swallows it down and feels substantially better after the water settles in his stomach.

 “I gathered as much,” Butler says a little severely. “My first clue came when I found you sprawled on the couch with a half eaten piece of cake I was saving for Juliet, and an empty bottle of wine.”

 Artemis grimaces. “My apologies.”

 Butler sits on the bed next to Artemis; the mattress dips considerably.

 “I think you should busy yourself,” he tells Artemis. “Go for a walk. Throw yourself into a new project.”

 “I will as soon as my brain stops attempting to splatter itself against my skull,” Artemis says a little weakly.

 “Good,” Butler says. “Because if you spend your time pining over the commander, it’s only going to make things worse.”

 Artemis sighs. “Was it that obvious?”

 Butler raises an eyebrow. “Artemis, you took Holly, alone, on a two month trip to Europe, free of charge. It wasn’t hard to see.”

 Artemis pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t- that wasn’t my intention.”

 “Perhaps not,” Butler shrugs. “But regardless of how it began, I suspect that wasn’t how it ended.”

 Artemis says nothing, massaging his eyes.

 “My partner,” Butler says slowly, and Artemis, who so rarely hears about Butler’s love life, looks up immediately, hangover forgotten. “We met a long time ago, while you and Holly were in the time tunnel. He was just a man I knew from the local bar. We started to see each other every week, and then it became every night. At first, he was just a welcome friend while I mourned you. A man I could rely on to make me laugh and have a drink with me. 

 “And then, suddenly, he wasn’t; he was pouring me a glass of whisky, and the light hit his eyes and his beard a certain way, and-”

 “And you thought to yourself,” Artemis says, “‘ _ Oh.’ _ ”

 Butler smiles at Artemis. “Exactly.”

 “Did you tell him?”

 “Not right away. I wasn’t certain if he was interested. And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

 Artemis looks away. 

 “He made the first move. He told me he had divorced his wife only a few years ago, and that he had never been with a man before.” Butler looks at Artemis. “He told me he was so glad I had let him come to the realisation he cared for me on his own. And here we are, several years later.” He pats Artemis’s hand. “Be patient, Artemis.”

 Artemis sighs, but does feel a little better. “Thank you, Butler.”

 Butler nods, stands up. In the door frame, he turns back to Artemis and levels a finger at him.

 “If I find you drunk on the couch with an empty bottle of  _ Penfolds 50 Year Old, 170th Anniversary Release Rare Tawny  _ again _ , _ ” he warns Artemis, “You and I will be having words. Do you understand?”

 Artemis smiles sheepishly. “Understood.”

-

 

Holly doesn’t leave the building for two days. She wallows in her emotions and eats a lot of takeaway and does a lot of running.

 Mulch sends her a message on the third day:  _ When r u back? _

__ Holly, who is trying to avoid falling into the habit of lying to people she cares about, replies with,  _ I’m home right now. _

__ Which is how Mulch Diggums comes to be sitting on her sofa, bushy beard and crooked little nose, looking mildly concerned.

 “You look like shit,” he tells her. “Pardon my Pixie _. _ I thought you were meant to be on holiday? What were you doing, going to raves every night?”

 Holly busies herself with making nettle tea in the kitchen and doesn’t acknowledge this, bringing back two mugs of tea.

 “So, how was it?” he asks. “Got any holiday snaps?”

 She does, of course, but the instant camera is now stored high up, out of sight and mind. She makes some stumbling excuse, and now Mulch has his burly arms crossed, gaze levelled at her.

 “What did Artemis do?” he asks. “Do I need to have words with him?”   
 “No!” Holly blurts. “No, he didn’t do anything,” she says, a little more quietly.

 Mulch doesn’t believe her. 

 “I don’t believe you,” he says. “You look like you came home and found out your grandmother died.”

 “He didn’t do anything,” she insists, and Mulch stares at her, an odd look on his face, beneath all that wiry hair.

 “What did  _ you _ do?” he asks slowly.

 Holly sips her tea, looks anywhere else, and Mulch turns a little gentler, putting a stubby hand on her forearm.

 “You can tell me,” Mulch says. 

 Holly mumbles something, and Mulch leans in. 

 “What?”

 She closes her eyes. The quicker it’s over, the quicker he’ll stop asking.

 “ _ Ikissedhim _ ,” she says very quickly and very quietly.

 Mulch stares at her.

 “You… you did  _ what _ ?”

 “Don’t,” she says, voice breaking. “I already feel bad enough.”

 He puts his hands up. “Hey, you didn’t say a  _ word _ when Doo Dah and I started dating. I’m not going to drag you through the mud.”

 She shoots a look at him. He puts his hands up higher.

 “Sorry,” Mulch says quickly. “That was a poor choice of words.” He pats her leg. “Okay, so you kissed him. So… he didn’t take it well? Was he upset?”

 Holly, unavoidably, thinks about how he had moaned, muscles clenching beneath her fingers.

 “It wasn’t like that,” she mutters, and glances at Mulch. “Why aren’t you more... “

 “Disgusted? Shocked? Horrified?” he suggests.

 She glares at him.

 “Look,” he says. “Recently, you two have gotten pretty close, and, well. You went on a trip to Europe together. By yourselves. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” He pauses to pick up his tea. “Besides, it’d be pretty poor if I suddenly decided interspecies romance was only acceptable when it applied to me.”

 She’s never felt as grateful to Mulch as she does in that moment. He sips his tea, and looks back at her, as if she didn’t just confess what some fairies would argue is a sin against her culture and people.

 “So, what’s the problem, then?” He asks. “Why aren’t you two off exploring where this could go?”

 “Because it was a mistake,” Holly mumbles. “An awful, disgusting, mistake.”

 Mulch blinks at her. “Is my and Doo Dah’s relationship an awful, disgusting mistake?”

 “No, of course not,” Holly says, brows furrowing. “Why would you-” she falls silent at how his brows raise meaningfully. “It’s not the same,” she argues. “You didn’t know Doo Dah since he was a child.”

 Mulch looks at her thoughtfully over the brim of his mug. “I don’t see how that’s a problem. It’s not like you were interested then, obviously-”

 She flinches before she can stop herself, and now Mulch does frown.

 “Holly?”

 “You don’t remember,” she says miserably. “Do you remember how I told you you helped us in the past, during the whole business with the lemur?”

 “Yes…?”

 “When we came out of the time portal,” she says, “it muddled us up. I came out much younger, and Artemis came out older. I was panicking, and there were all these hormones, and I thought he was dead, and-”

 “And you kissed him,” Mulch says, in a neutral tone. Holly nods miserably.

“I apologised to him once everything was said and done,” she explains. “But… he doesn’t remember either. He’s still getting his memories back. But Mulch, it was unacceptable, utterly unacceptable-”

 “Hey,” Mulch says gently. “Hey, calm down.” 

 Holly looks down and realises she’s actually teary. When was the last time she cried?

 “Holly,” he says softly, patting her hand. “You’re a good person, and people make mistakes. Did Artemis ever seem upset by it? Before he forgot?”

 “No,” she admits. “But we never talked about it again, so-”

 “Artemis isn’t a fragile child,” Mulch says kindly. “If he had a problem, he would have told you. Then, and  _ now. _ ”

 “But I’ve ruined our friendship,” she says desperately. “He’s probably disgusted, and horrified, and-”

 “Shocked?” Mulch offers dryly. “I doubt it, Holly.”

 She sighs. “Even if it weren’t unacceptable, Mulch, it could never work.”

 “So you  _ want _ it to work?”

 “No!” 

 Mulch scratches his beard. “If you say so, Holly.”

 Holly elects to ignore this. “And I don’t know what to  _ do _ ,” she says.

 “Holly,” Mulch says. “Breathe.”

 She puts her head in her hands. “And I just…  _ left _ .” 

 He pats her back. “Look, why don’t we go and get something to eat. It smells stale in here, and I think you need to go outside for a bit.”

 “Okay,” she says. “Alright.”

 “We’ll get you a little calmer,” he continues, in that gravelly, reassuring voice, “And then we can figure out what to do next, okay?”

 Holly nods, wiping that traitorous moisture from her eyes. 

 “Thanks, Mulch,” She says in a small voice. he gives her a very brief, but tight, hug.

 “Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even,” he says roughly, smiling at her.

 

-

 

Artemis sits in the garden, his laptop closed and on his lap as he watches Juliet play with the twins. He scratches his jaw idly; he hasn’t shaved for a few days. With his hair swept off his forehead, clad in a thick woolen turtleneck, he feels a little like a hermit. Myles breaks out of a spectacular headlock courtesy of Beckett ( _ courtesy of Holly _ , he thinks, but that’s a painful thought) and comes to sit with him. 

 “Are you okay?” Artemis asks him. “That headlock looked pretty rough.”

 Myles sniffs. “Beck is strong, but he doesn’t understand what pressure points are.”

 “Clever,” Artemis allows, and ruffles Myles’ hair. 

 “You look sad,” Myles tells him. Artemis can’t help but smile. Even with that fierce intellect, Myles has the forwardness of the young.

 “I am sad,” he admits. 

 “Why?”   
 Artemis shifts in his seat, unsure how best to phrase it.

 “Holly is upset with me,” he settles with.

 “What did you do?”

 Myles looks innocent, but Artemis knows a trap when he sees it.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “And Holly doesn’t want to talk to me right now, so I can’t ask her.”

 Myles says nothing for a bit, swinging his feet. “I like Holly,” he says finally. “She’s nice.”

“I like Holly too,” Artemis says. 

 “Juliet says you  _ love _ her,” Myles says innocently. Artemis glances at his brother, who wears that innocent face again, and feels a very rare prickle of annoyance. is this how adults felt when he was young? granted, his manipulation was a lot more subtle, but  _ still _ .

 “Did Juliet tell you that?”

 “No,” Myles admits. “I heard her say it to Butler.”

 “It’s not nice to eavesdrop,” Artemis says. “Juliet wouldn’t have liked you to tell me that.”

 Myles fiddles with his t-shirt. “Sorry,” he mutters.

 Artemis melts a little. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again, okay? You’re better than that.”

 “Okay,” says Myles, who perhaps has had enough of being scolded; he stands up, and then turns to Artemis.

 “You didn’t answer my question,” he protests.

 Artemis gestures for him to lean in real close.

 “That’s because it’s none of your business,” he whispers into Myles’ ear, and leans back to laugh at the look on Myles’ face.

 “Go play with Juliet,” he says, and watches the grumpy boy toddle off.

 He closes his eyes, feels the sun on his face.

 The answer’s yes, of course. But some things, for now, are better left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u as always for the lovely comments!!!! im estimating there's maybe another 6-10 chapters in this... should be out each fortnight at the worst!! i promise a happy ending, but we got some angst to go yet.


	13. rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has an announcement; Holly sends a text.

Artemis wishes he could go back in time, and tell his twelve year old self:  _ One day, you will, without threat of bodily harm or persuasion, exercise and enjoy it. _

__ Well,  _ enjoy _ is a strong word. It’s more like he values the relief of it; the way he can tighten his focus to his limbs, to sensation.

 A week after his return, he found himself in the warmed pool his father uses for laps and his physiotherapy exercises. At a loss of what to do for himself, trying to pretend like Holly hasn’t occupied every waking moment of him, and then he came back the next day, and the next day after that.

 Memorably, on the fourth day, Juliet had to teach him how to swim properly when she found him almost drowning from his pitiful freestyle stroke; showed him the correct technique, that swimming is more than splashing and hoping for the best. He appreciates that swimming doesn’t make him sweaty, obviously, and also how he feels almost elegant sometimes, twisting through the water like he’s snorkelling once more. Artemis takes to it like, well, a fish for water; he follows a swimming fitness plan he found online, on a fitness website long abandoned since the tech Crash several years ago.

 So here he is, swimming, classical music playing from the little bluetooth speaker he placed on the edge of the pool, feeling how his legs and arms are burning pleasantly, existing purely within the confines of himself, unconcerned with the things outside the water.

 Finishing his fifteenth lap of backstroke, he begins his relay sprints. His butterfly stroke leaves a large amount to be desired, but he persists, and finishes quite exhausted. As he does his cooldown laps, his awareness starts to expand once more, and naturally, Holly fills it.

 It’s been three weeks since he heard from her. He’s taken to leaving his phone out of reach, where he can’t succumb to temptation; taken to filling every moment with anything but her.

 Artemis is a patient man, but he isn’t a cold blooded one; he feels like a traveller in a desert, knowing water is just behind him, but that he has to go forward.

  His parents don’t ask him about it; Artemis suspects that Butler has had a word to them. And he appreciates that; what could he possibly tell them, anyway?

 Juliet is not so considerate, which he discovers when he makes the mistake of asking her to give him an on-land workout regime to make his butterfly stroke easier.

 “Is this so you’re all muscly for Holly when you finally see her again?” she asks brightly.

 “Juliet,” he says warningly, and she rolls her eyes. 

 “Fine, fine,” she says, and when she emails him the pdf file, it’s titled  _ sexymuscleplantoimpressholly _ , which makes him no small amount of annoyed, not only is it ridiculous but it’s also painfully long and clashes with his preferred file naming format that she’s  _ well _ aware of. Like a match dropped on a pile of tinder; he finds himself stomping down to her room.

 “ _ Enough _ ,” he snaps at her, and Juliet, who has long been a subscriber to the brand  _ I don’t take your nonsense, Artemis _ , bristles and then, abruptly, they’re having a loud argument.

 It’s the first time him and Juliet have fought for a very long time, he realises in retrospect. Juliet accusing him of being too proud to talk to Holly, and Artemis coldly retorting, and then, Artemis oversteps his bounds:

 “No wonder Madame Ko took so long to give you your tattoo,” he says, and immediately regrets it.

 But Juliet, arch and proud, replies just as sharply: 

 “No wonder Holly doesn’t want you.”

 Artemis feels like his ribs have crumpled into his stomach, rolled up like sticks in twine, and Juliet has the very rare pleasure of seeing Artemis not only speechless, but hurt.

 They stare at each other for a good minute, both surprised with themselves, both horrified with themselves. Artemis can’t find his silver tongue, usually so quick to jump to the frey, and Juliet runs a hand over her face.

 “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Sorry. It’s been a shitty week.”

 Artemis exhales. “I’m sorry too. My remark was entirely uncalled for.”

 She pats the bed next to her and he sits down. It occurs to Artemis that he’s been so cooped up in his misery that since he returned, he has failed to really interact with his family meaningfully, beyond the attempt of superficial distractions.

 “What’s happened?” he tries.

 “Will and I broke up,” Juliet sighs. “It just… it wasn’t working, you know? No matter how much we tried.”

 “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 “Me too. He was really great in bed.”

 Artemis smiles. “Your influence, I suppose?”

 Juliet laughs. “Exactly. A whole year of training, down the drain.” She sobers a little. “I’ll be fine, I knew it was coming, but…”

 Artemis pats her shoulder. 

 “I’m sorry I said that about you and Holly,” she says. 

 “Did Butler tell you?”

 She shakes her head. “No, I guessed. I was reviewing the security footage and saw Holly when she came in to get her stuff. She looked… to be honest, I don’t know how she looked. But it wasn’t good. What did you say to her?”

 “Why does everyone assume it’s  _ me _ ?” Artemis mutters.

 Juliet raises his eyebrows, and he crosses his arms.

 “She’s the one that started it,” he says, pitifully aware of how childish it sounds.

 “Started what? An argument?”

 Artemis, inevitably, recalls her breath hot and heavy, the swipe of her thumb across his nipple, how it felt for them to to be separated by only a few layers of thin fabric.

 “You’re  _ blushing _ ,” Juliet says, equal parts delighted and shocked. 

 “It’s warm in here,” he mutters, a pitiful dodge, and she  _ knows _ it.

 “Come on,” Juliet says, elbowing him gently. “Tell me.”

 “She kissed me,” Artemis says, slowly and quietly, and it feels  _ good _ to say that, like the words are confirmation of reality. Juliet looks now just delighted.

 “I knew it,” she crows. “I  _ knew _ this was going to happen. But what’s the problem? Don’t tell me you’re a bad kisser, Arty,” she grins, and that blush flares even more.

 God, was he? He hopes not. He’s read enough books, seen enough movies. He knows how sex works, he knows that it’s one of those things that require attention to your partner, patience… 

 “Maybe you’ve got washing machine syndrome,” Juliet muses.

 “What on earth is  _ that _ ,” Artemis says flatly, and Juliet, cackling, whips her tongue around her open mouth in horrifically wet circles, slurping. He grimaces.

 “I  _ definitely _ didn’t do that,” he protests, and finds himself laughing despite himself. 

 She shrugs. “Well, what happened?”

 “She kissed me... and then a few minutes later, she suddenly got off of me-”

 “ _ You were on top of eachother!”  _ Juliet says, scandalised, grinning. “ _ Artemis!” _

 Ignoring this, Artemis continues, staring at the ceiling in mortification. “And she looked… horrified. Embarrassed. And then she went into her room and I basically told Butler to come get us as soon as possible because I knew she didn’t want me anywhere near her.”

 “Wait, you guys didn’t talk about this? At all?”

 “Well, she locked the door, Juliet,” Artemis says dryly. “I’m not going to be  _ that _ guy.”

 “Actually, she’s probably just embarrassed because of the age gap,” Juliet says thoughtfully.

 Artemis sighs. “It was never going to work. And now my best friend is never going to talk to me again.”

 This time, it’s Juliet’s turn to pat his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t know that. Holly’s really proud, and headstrong. And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t actually been in a serious relationship for like… a decade. She’s probably just overwhelmed.”

 Artemis sighs again. “I know. But it doesn’t make the time drag on any less.”

 Juliet smiles. “It’s that serious, huh?”

Artemis, revelling in the strange freedom vocalising all this has brought him, interlaces his fingers on his knees and smiles at them, finally saying things he’s had to hold inside him for fear of scaring Holly away.

 “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he tells her. “Juliet, you know how I despise the common cliche, but she makes me want to be a better man. I want to see her before I go to sleep, and see her when I wake up. I want to be able to make her smile for the rest of my life.”

 Juliet raises her brow. “Wow.”

 “What?”

 “I... owe Butler a lot of money, that’s all,” she says. “You’re, well. You’re a closet romantic, huh?”

 Artemis raises his brow straight back at her. “You’re surprised?”

 “Well, you robbed an entire race of their gold before hitting your teens,” she reminds him. 

 “The duality of man,” Artemis says, a quirk of his mouth. 

 “So, what are you going to do?”

 Artemis looks at his hands once more. “I don’t know. It depends.”

 “On what?”

 “On what she wants,” he says simply.

 

-

 

Holly spends her days walking through Haven; travelling to old haunts, circling the parks. It’s been a while since she walked through her city,  _ really _ walked, and what she sees… relieves her.

 When she first started in the LEP, goblin turf wars were at an all time high; they were in the middle of a political turnover; gentrification of the dwarven neighbourhood was thick and fast.

 But things have gotten a little better. The old slums have been demolished and replaced with better buildings, scorch marks gone, the neighbourhoods diverse. It’s nice to walk through a place and see she’s contributed to something good, something  _ tangible _ . 

 Today, she’s walking to Foaly’s apartment for lunch. The kids are spending the weekend with Caballine’s mother, and it’s been her first adult event since she’s returned, with someone who isn’t Mulch, at a place that isn’t a bar.

 She shows up to Foaly’s apartment with a bag of fresh carrots and rings the doorbell; beaming, Caballine lets her in.

 “Holly,” she says warmingly, giving her a hug. “How lovely to see you. I can’t wait to hear about your trip!”

 The color drains from Holly’s face, and she hopes her smile looks believable. 

 “Foaly’s just in the study,” Caballine says apologetically. “He had a co-worker over this morning but they’re running a little overtime.”

 “That’s okay,” Holly says. “I’ll give him a kick in the ass to get out here, shall I?”

 Caballine grins, takes the carrots from her. Holly makes her way through the apartment.

 It’s tastefully decorated, which is entirely Caballine’s influence; bits of Foaly poke through, though. A shelf full of little prototype gadgets Holly recognises from her early years at the LEP; framed awards for his developments. Some odd prints that she recognises as modern abstracts by Foaly’s favourite local artists. Even an old, crumpled tin foil hat, sitting out of reach on a shelf.

 The study is down the end of the hallway, and she lets herself in.

 Foaly is hunched over his welding desk, goggles over his head. Next to him is an elf with matching magnification goggles over their eyes. They both chat amiably over some half finished device Foaly has set on his desk.

 “Hey there,” Holly says loudly, and Foaly looks up, delighted.

 “Holly! Come here,” he says, and Holly gives her old friend a tight hug. “Sorry about this, me and Moss got a little caught up.”

 The name is familiar to her; she searches for the thread of memory, and pulls, and remembers Artemis telling her about a tech advisor they had on the team for their SEAnet venture.

 The aforementioned Moss pulls up his goggles and she’s met with a surprisingly handsome face; square jaw and crooked nose, the darkest brown skin she’s seen on an elf, with bright blue eyes and a mess of deep brown hair that’s in style at the moment for male-presenting elves.

 “Oh,” Moss says, his voice smooth, a little surprised. “You’re Holly Short.”

 She nods, unsure what to say to that.

 “That she is,” Foaly says cheerfully. “Holly, Moss is working on the SEAnet with me and Artemis.”

 She tries to hide the flinch at that name, and extends her hand, shakes Moss’s. It’s warm and dry. 

 “It’s a pleasure,” he tells her, and seems to be sincere.

 “I hope Foaly isn’t giving you too much lip,” Holly says.

 Moss smiles. “I think he’s matured in his old age.”

 “I’m not old,” Foaly protests. “I’m… mature. A mature father figure.”

 “Sure,” Holly says. “Have you gotten rid of your unicorn figurines yet?”

 “They’re  _ collector items _ ,” Foaly hisses. 

 “Mmhmm,” Holly says doubtfully; Moss grins at her. “Anyway, come on. It’s lunch time.”

 “Fine, fine,” Foaly sighs. He stands up, stretching all of his limbs; a series of resounding cracks. “Moss, I’ll see you on Monday at work?”

 “You’re in the tech department?” Holly asks him.

 Moss nods. “I’ve been working with Foaly for the last year or so. I’m very lucky,” he adds, and there’s something familiar in the way he watches Foaly preen with an affectionate, dry sort of glance.

 He removes his goggles, and pulls on his coat, standing up. He’s a couple of centimeters taller than her, and he dresses shockingly well for someone who works in the LEP tech’s division. Foaly sees him to the door, and when he comes back in, he elbows Holly, who almost drops the plates she’s setting on their balcony table.

 “What?” Holly protests, getting a better grip on the hardened clay. “What is it?”

 “So, Moss is a nice guy,” Foaly says.

 “Alright…?”

 “A nice,  _ single _ guy,” Foal continues, and Holly blinks, mouth open to protest, but then, isn’t this what she’s been telling herself she needs? A nice date? With a nice fairy of some kind?

 She chews on her lip. The pit in her stomach is just nervousness, she tells herself.

 “Is he my type?” she says instead.

 “He doesn’t have a criminal record, everyone likes him well enough at work, and he works out regularly.”

 “Those  _ are _ some important qualities,” she admits, laying out the knives and forks.

 “He’s funny, smart- and I don’t say that lightly!- and admires you,” Foaly continues, ticking them off on his fingers. 

 Holly hums. “Look. If he asks for my phone number… you can give it to him.”

 Foaly looks at her. “Holly, you’re one of the most well-known fairies in Haven. No civilian is going to have the gumption to ask for your phone number.”

 Holly sighs. “Well, give me  _ his _ number, and  _ maybe _ I’ll ask him on a date.”

 “That’s all I ask for,” Foaly says blissfully.

 

-

 

Minerva flies up for the weekend while Cathy goes on a business trip to a winery in Germany; Artemis and her spend a lot of the time playing chess, debating philosophy, and eating cheese.

 Perhaps Juliet has tipped her off; she doesn’t mention a thing about Holly while she’s there. 

 But Artemis welcomes the company. And it helps she tells him he looks more muscular than he remembers. He’s not immune to a compliment.

 But as wonderful as Minerva is being, she still, quite accidentally,  she still sends him crashing back down to earth.

 On the Sunday night, they sit and have a lovely roast dinner, courtesy of Butler, who sits with them. Minerva, so shyly, reaches into her pocket and produces a tiny, velvet covered box.

 “Oh, Minerva,” Butler smiles. “Is that what I think it is?”

 Minerva smiles back, but her hands tremble a little as she opens it; a beautiful ring, elegant and simple; rose gold with a small but very high quality diamond in a gentle claw setting. 

 “When are you going to pop the question?” Butler asks, placing his hand over hers.

 “When Cathy gets back,” Minerva sighs. “I just… god, I miss her. So much. I can’t wait a second longer. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

 “Why wouldn’t it be?” Butler says. “Cathy is lovely.”

 “She’s a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman,” Artemis contributes.

 Minerva relaxes a little at this. “You both approve?”

 “Yes!” Butler laughs. 

 “I just… I know both of you would tell me if you thought it were a bad idea,” Minerva says. 

 “When is love ever a bad idea?” Artemis says, and the smile on his face becomes forced at the thoughts it brings.

 It’s been twenty four days since he last saw Holly, and with every day, that probability calculation in his head, once a comfort, shrinks a little more. He’s starting to wonder, will he ever know the trembling gossamer fear-delight that Minerva is experiencing right now? Will he ever be able to come to Minerva and Butler, a ring in hand and good news on his tongue? 

 But this is Minerva’s moment, too filled with joy to be tainted like this; he forces it back down to deal with late, and the smile becomes genuine after a few seconds.

 Luckily, neither of them notice this brief lapse.

 “Papa won’t be giving me away,” Minerva says, “What with this being a modern, feminist wedding. But I’d love for the both of you to be my best men alongside him.”

 “Of course,” Butler says, manfully ignoring his watery eyes.

 “It would be my pleasure,” Artemis says, gripping Minerva’s hand, perhaps a little teary himself.

 “You both get a plus one, of course,” Minerva says. “And the rest of the Fowls and Butlers are invited too.”

 “It’s not going to be a small wedding, I take it?” Artemis says dryly.

 Minerva gives him such a radiant beam that he feels warm with affection from it. “I’m marrying the woman I love, Artemis,” she says. “I want everyone in the world to know it.”

 

-

 

Holly’s arms give out and she sets the weights down, feeling how her biceps are struggling, painful, and is grimly satisfied.

 She slings her towel around her neck and heads back up to her apartment, intent on taking a long shower and making herself a nettle-burger.  She’s in the middle of peeling off her work-out clothes when her phone dings gently; it’s Foaly, sending her Moss’s phone number.

 She adds it to her contact lists and then just stares at her phone for a little bit, remembering his bright eyes and that little dry smile.

 She hesitantly types out a message:

_ hi moss _ , she says.  _ this is holly short- foaly gave me ur number. would you want to go get a drink, some time? _

__ She reads it over. Casual, no pretense. God, when did she last organise a date? It must have been that salad debacle with Trouble, she thinks, and realising that was almost a decade ago spurs her to hit  _ send _ .

 Holly doesn’t like to be that person who waits for a reply, so she has a nice, relaxing shower, massages her biceps while she’s in there. When she gets out, she glances at her phone to check the time, and Moss has replied.

_ Holly, that’d be lovely. When and where? _

_  how about forest for the trees, on willow ave? Thursday at 20:00? _

_  It’s a date. _

She puts the phone down, and ignores the way her stomach takes that uncomfortable pitch. Has it really been so long that she’s forgotten what nerves feel like?

 Forest for the Trees is a classy little bar she’s been to a couple of times in the past, with reasonably priced drinks and comfortable seats. And they play their music just loud enough for ambience, but not too loud to deafen, which is something a lot of bars, especially ones Mulch takes her to, don’t seem to understand.

 So, she’s going on a date. 

 Good. Just what she needs.   
  


-

 

Minerva leaves the next morning and Artemis watches her drive away from the porch, feeling miserable. But he’s trying, so hard, to give Holly the time she needs and to not drive himself spare while he does it. So he heads straight to the pool and starts swimming with a mindless sort of ferocity, like if he can make himself sore enough, tired enough, he’ll be distracted enough that he can just... be.

 It doesn’t work, and he can’t stop thinking about the wedding.

 Maybe by then, Holly will be speaking to him, and maybe they’ll be friendly enough again that he can bring her. She can wear that white playsuit that makes her arms look like strong marble carved by the old masters, makes her legs look impossibly long for her height, and he’ll smile at her from his place on the altar and maybe mouth something playful but affectionate at her in Elvish-

 He forces himself into a butterfly stroke, and is finally brought some base relief when his shoulders, still protesting from his first attempt at the weights regime Juliet made up for him, struggle to make it past the first lap.

 After he does his cool down laps, he just lies there, floating on the surface, drifting across the pool. 

 Traitorous brain, but he’s thinking about her again; it’s just him, and echoes of water, echoes of her, her,  _ her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH ALL THE LOVE FOR THIS FIC... it makes me so happy!!! im so glad youre enjoying it!!! estimating about 7 more chapters or so!


	14. date time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holly goes on a date. Artemis gets some bad news.

Holly, finding her days utterly unoccupied and trying to pretend everything is fine, finds herself walking past an art school on the edge of Haven and is walking through the door before she even realises she’s moved.  

 It’s early in the afternoon, fairies walking and painting and laughing and creating, and she feels like she’s twenty again, all fresh and new and bristling. The smell of fresh paint and clay, of hot glass and cool marble. She follows that marble smell and comes into a carving studio.

 They don’t see her lingering at the door; a small class of fairies she estimates to be over a hundred years or so each, sitting around a dwarven woman who is talking about the principles of living stone, the finer points of dwarven carving culture. She doesn’t recognise this woman until she turns around and Holly sees her in profile; close cropped hair and a beard to rival Mulch’s, and that bulbous nose that she saw several times a week for several years of her life.

 Peridota, she thinks, surprised. She must be half a millenia old now, but Holly can see her gesturing enthusiastically; she doesn’t look a day over two hundred.

 The class spread out in the room a little, going to their own lumps of marble, and Peridota turns to her with her hands on her thick hips.

 “Sixty years,” she booms across the room. Holly finds an old sort of fondness pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Sixty years, I’ve been waiting for you to come back here.”

 “Hello, Perry,” Holly says, equal parts embarrassed and delighted. 

 “Well, come in here, girl,” Peridota says, waving her in. A few of the artists give Holly looks of curiosity, but that’s it, and Holly comes face to face with her old mentor.

 “I was just walking by,” Holly says. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your class.”

 “My goodness, so polite,” Peridota grins. “Where is the elf that threw my marble against the pottery kiln?”

 Holly winces. She had never told Artemis about this for a reason.

 Her father, an elf who took delight in the old ways (the painfully old ways) was horrified his daughter was studying art, and not contributing to the community like her mother. One day, he had pushed too far, and Peridota had found her fuming and kicking chairs in the studio, and, well.

 She was twenty two, and angry, and had some anger management issues. Things were broken, harsh words were said.

  Holly never understood Peridota until Root took her under his wing.

 “Perry,” Holly says. “I’m so sorry.”

 Peridota laughs. “You think you’re the first youngling to have a shit fit in my studio? Please, Holly.”

 “Still,” Holly says. “I should have apologised to you.”

 “Ah, well,” Peridota says. “Better late than never.”

 And then she wraps Holly in a hug that feels like her mother, and Holly gets a bit teary and Peridota graciously says nothing. 

 “How’s Dia?” Holly asks once they let go.

 “She and I got married a few decades ago,” Peridota grins, flashing those teeth. She holds up her hand; through that living hair knotting on her skin, Holly can see a dwarven betrothal tattoo encircling her fingers. It’s beautiful. Holly smiles.

 “This class only runs for another half hour, or so,” Peridota says. “Why don’t you stick around afterwards?”

 Well, she has nothing else to do, so she says as much, and gets comfortable.

 

-

 

Artemis finds himself quite unexpectedly being drawn into the planning of Minerva’s wedding. Minerva, who appreciates a well run soiree as much as he does, enlists him at first as her person to complain to about idiot caterers, and then he’s recommending a good patisserie, and then he’s flown back to France to actually speak to the baker himself, and, well, here he is, taking a taxi downtown in Paris.

 On top of the pressure of being the Man of Honor Foaly is back to fully harassing Artemis every spare second about the SEAnet now he isn’t on holiday. He’s enlisted the help of a gentleman named Moss who Artemis was first doubtful about, and then now  impressed by. Artemis strongly gets the sense that Moss is faintly relieved to be talking to someone who is in the position to candidly tell Foaly he needs to calm down when he starts getting worked up about logistics.

 It’s getting cold now, and Artemis pulls his thick coat about himself as the taxi pulls to a stop. He tips the driver (he appreciates good silent service), and walks into the patisserie.

 It’s not too busy, and he waits quite patiently as an older gentleman in front of him is served. Once the gentlemen leaves, the baker, a handsome man in his thirties, looks bright with recognition as he sees Artemis’s face.

 “Ah, Artemis!” he comes out from behind the counter and gives Artemis a brief but affectionate kiss on both cheeks, and takes the younger man by the shoulders. “It has been too long!”

 Artemis switches to French, and says, just as warmly, “Too long indeed, Clément. Where is Gaétan?”

 Clément waves his hands dismissively. “That fool husband of mine? He is sick with the flu. I tell him to take his vitamins, and he refuses. But he will be very disappointed he missed you. What brings you to Paris?”

 “A  very close friend of mine is getting married,” Artemis tells him, hanging his coat up on the little hook by the door. “And what sort of friend would I be if I did not recommend the best patisserie in all of France?”

 “Artemis, you flirt,” Clément says with a grin. “Come, let’s talk shop.”

 He takes Artemis into the back, where he and Gaétan talk catering; he brings Artemis a café crème, and takes out the book they use for deciding on cake designs.

 “How many people?” he asks, fingers poised over the pages.

 “I’d say at least two hundred,” Artemis says. “We haven’t yet got the dietary requirements confirmed, but I know how busy you can get. Better sooner than later.”

 “A date?”

 “Roughly two months from now.”

 Clément chews his lip. “Ah, you are lucky I like you so much, Artemis. We will make this work.”

 They go through cake designs for the better part of an hour, discussing color, flavor, shape. Artemis, usually so confident in his French, revels in the moments where Clément corrects him, or explains a particularly specific word. 

 At the satisfaction this brings, Artemis finds himself satisfied; how he has grown, as a person.

 One of the other bakers comes in to complain about the cream not being quite right, and as they’ve basically finished, Artemis waves Clément away, starts finalising the notes he’s made on his phone. 

 He takes one last look at the cake, and hates how sad it makes him. Artemis Fowl, a sentimental fool. 

 Perhaps Clément sees this as Artemis takes his coat off the rack, getting ready to leave; he presses a little bag full of his favourite biscuits into Artemis’s hand before Artemis can leave, sprinting out of the kitchen.

 “Whoever she is,” Clément tells him, “she will come around, no?”

 And then he ushers Artemis out onto the street, and he stands there for a minute or so, befuddled, biscuits clutched between his hands.

 When did he become such an open book?

 

-

 

Holly comes home with an aching soul and sore feet, and, more importantly, several spots in her calendar filled.

 “What are you doing these days?” Peridota had asked her, as they sat in the empty studio, surrounded by marble husks. 

 She shrugs. “Working at the LEP. Saving lives.”

 Peridota shakes her head. “No, Holly. What are your hobbies? What do you do in your spare time?”

 Holly blinks. And shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I’m on holidays,” she says pathetically.

 Peridota’s lips purse beneath all that hair, but her eyes twinkle. “You should come teach.”

 “What?”

 “Teach! One of the other sculpture teachers is on maternity leave, and I am stretched thin.”

 “I- haven’t carved anything for years,” Holly says, so taken by surprise she doesn’t really know what to say, can’t find a good excuse.

 “Bah,” Peridota says. “You are an artist, Holly Short. I still have your sculptures in our gallery, you know. I make the younger students look at them every now and then. You should have been born a dwarf.”

 Holly laughs, despite herself, and is warmed. “That’s a flattering offer, Perry, but I’m not qualified in  _ any _ shape or form to teach sculpture.”

Peridota waves her hand. “You misunderstand me. This is not an offer, but a desperate request.” she leans in. “If I have to teach one more youngling how to hold a chisel correctly,” she smiles. “I may murder one of them.”

 Holly raises her brows. “And I would be any better?”

 Peridota shrugs. “Think of it volunteering. Paid volunteering. Giving back to the community.”

 “The community?”   
 “Me,” Peridota says, grinning. “I’m the community. And you’d have your own studio. Maybe you could fill your spare time?”

 “Perry,” Holly says hesitantly.

 “I don’t hear a no…”

 “Fine, fine. No way this could go wrong.”

 “Next Wednesday, two in the afternoon,” Peridota says. 

 “Alright, alright,” Holly mutters, standing up. “I need to head off, I have a date.”

 “Holly?” Peridota calls, before Holly can leave the room. Holly turns to look at her. “It was very nice to see you again,” the dwarf says, and Holly smiles despite herself.

 “It was nice to see you too,” she says, and then: “Thank you.”

 

-

 

So, now she’s home and sore, and it’s six o clock. Holly rushes about, has a shower, styles her hair, puts on some makeup, even.

 It’s strange, looking at herself in the mirror. her hair swept off her forehead, eyes in that deep flicked eyeliner. She looks… really pretty, and finds herself reminded of when Artemis and her went for dinner, and passerbys were looking at her. She doesn’t wear makeup very often. She feels silly in it, like she’s trying too hard.

 But it’s still her, isn’t it? Those muscles hard-won, the scars hard-earned. 

 Those mismatched eyes.

 The makeup doesn’t change that. Though, her hair is starting to annoy her. Too long. She kind of misses those days when she was tougher, when her head was shaved. She’ll get a cut soon, she promises herself, and then realises it’s six thirty.

Holly curses to herself, and pulls on the first thing she sees; a black jumpsuit she wore once to a formal LEP dinner, tight and stretchy and a little glamorous, and some flats that add half a centimetre to her height. And then she calls a taxi and sprints down the stairs, slides into the back.

 The driver looks at her. “You’re Holly Short.”

 “Yes I am,” she says with a tight smile. He joins the traffic and she sends an apologetic text to Moss, who replies with a  _ no problem, I’ve saved us seats _ , and good Gods she’s on her way to a date.

 “You look very lovely tonight, Commander,” the driver says. “It’s strange seeing you out of uniform.”

 She smiles, and it’s a little more genuine. “Thank you. It’s strange  _ being _ out of uniform.”

 The driver doesn’t say anything else, thank goodness, and the closer to the bar they get, the more nervous she becomes, fingers sweaty and knees twitching.  _ For goodness sake _ , she tells herself. She’s faced down a troll and put Opal Koboi behind bars, several times. She can handle a date.

 (There it is, again, that sick feeling in her stomach. It’s just butterflies, right?)

 She pays the driver and gets out, walks into the bar briskly.

 Moss sits by the window, watching people pass by, and he  _ does _ look handsome, she admits. Dark hair, bright eyes. Intelligent. 

 Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

 He sees her and waves; she takes a seat next to him, and is suddenly overcome by the fact she has no idea what to say.

 Moss, bless him, gets the ball rolling.

 “Spirits, or wine?” he asks.

 Holly casts her eyes down the slim lined electronic menu he offers her. All of it sim-alcohol, of course. She misses wine, she thinks, and banishes this thought.

 “The  _ baraidh _ cocktail sounds good,” she suggests, and Moss orders two.

 “I have to say,” he says, putting the menu down. “I was surprised to get your text. And very flattered,” he adds, a smile on his lips. 

 Holly smiles back at him. “Well,” she says, mentally taking out her flirting hat out of her dusty brain-cupboard, putting it on. “It’s rare to see a handsome elf in the tech industry.”

 She cringes. God, too much? But Moss looks flattered, and clears his throat.

 “I feel,” he says, “As if I should be thanking you for your service to Haven. Is that strange?”

 Holly laughs. “I won’t say no.”

 “Thank you for your service to Haven, Commander Short,” he says very seriously, and then snaps off a salute that isn’t half bad. She laughs again. Banter, she can handle.

 “Call me Holly,” she says. 

 “Holly,” Moss tries. And then shakes his head. “That feels very strange. I’ve known you for years as Captain Short, then Commander Short.”

 “Well, I had it legally changed,” Holly says, and Moss grins. The waiter brings them their two cocktails; Holly takes a sip, the berry flavor sharp and refreshing.

 Moss makes a noise of appreciation as he sets his own glass down. “I’ve walked by this place so many times, and never even looked at it.”

 Holly looks at the window at her city, bustling and darkening. “I used to come here when I was younger,” she tells him. “I rediscovered it recently. It’s a lot less sticky than I remember.”

 “When I was in my forties, I used to frequent this old pub where the slums used to be.”

 “You don’t look dwarven,” Holly says in surprise.

 He grins “I’m actually adopted. My fathers are both dwarves.”

 “That,” Holly says with feeling, ‘Sounds like an interesting childhood.”

 “Oh, they were wonderful fathers,” he says. “The neighbourhood? Not so much. Anyway, it was this old pub, I forget the name. I think it was the  _ Pepper Barrell _ ?”

 Holly squints. “Was that on the corner of Leaf Avenue and Vine Street?”

 “Yeah,” Moss says. “You know it?”

 Holly grimaces. “I had to stop a murder there in my fifties. I remember the floors-”

 “Were really, painfully, awfully sticky?” Moss says. 

 Holly laughs, and nods.

 “Gods, you have no idea. I lost many a shoe to the ol’  _ Barrell _ .”

 “And here you are, working in the LEP’s tech division,” Holly says. “How did that happen?”

 He shrugs. “I was in a few gifted learning programs at school that opened up doors for me, and my dads got me into engineering- they both worked at the mines, before they closed down. And then I bought my first computer in high school, and here I am.”

“You’re skipping quite a bit,” Holly says.

 He looks sheepish. “I worked really hard, for a long time. It’s not very glamorous.”

 “Ah,” Holly nods. “Yeah. I feel that.”

 “What about you? How’d you get into the LEP?”   
 “Haven’t you read the biography published last year?” she says, only a little bitterly.

 He laughs. “I may have skimmed it. My girlfriend at the time was really into celebrities.”

 Holly grimaces. “Celebrities?”

 “That’s what I said,” he says apologetically. “But then I found out she had stolen some money from me. So. Don’t be too offended.”

 Holly shrugs. “I should be used to it by now, I guess.”

 “What’s what happens when you save Haven a hundred times,” Moss says, and she can see it, see he’s about to ask about the infamous Artemis Fowl, and she drains the rest of her drink and says brightly, “Round two?”

 

-

 

They both get pretty drunk. And then he walks her home, and she lets him, and they come to the door of her building and they both stand there awkwardly.  

 Holly, surprising him, (and her) leans in and kisses him, and then the kiss becomes something else, and then they somehow make it up the lift and into her apartment.

 It’s been a very long time since she had sex, and she’s worried it shows, tells herself that’s why she’s hesitating. Moss, even drunk it seems, notices how she flinches as he runs his hand down the cup of her bra.

 “Holly?” he asks her. “Is everything okay?”

 “‘M fine,” she mumbles, pulls him back to her and telling herself,  _ stop being ridiculous.  _ She flips them over and kisses his neck, feels him arch beneath her, pressing up against her, and she moans a little, his hand running down her back and sinking into the swell of her ass, and her eyes flutter shut-

  And it’s Artemis kissing her now, Artemis’s clever hands on her body and those bright eyes looking up at her, Artemis beneath her and moaning and-

 Her eyes snap open and she turns completely still.

 Moss stops again. “Holly? Did I hurt you?”

 “No,” she says, “No, I’m fine, I-”  

 Moss very gently pushes her into a sitting position, and moves out from underneath her. She buries her head in her hands. The room spins a little. The bed lifts as Moss gets up, and then sinks down a minute later as Moss sits next to her. He pushes some water into her hand.

 “I think I drank too much,” she says, forces a laugh.

 “Holly,” he says kindly, rests his hand on her shoulder. She takes a drink and does feel a little better. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know. It’s fine if you don’t want to do this.”

 “I do,” she protests. “I put makeup on and everything.”

 He gives her a smile, and stands up, pulling his pants back on from where she had flung them. Something about the way he looks as he buttons up his shirt and her heart sinks:

 He reminds her of Artemis.

 “I had a lovely night with you, Holly,” Moss says. “But I think whoever it is- you’re still in love with them.”

 “I’m sorry?”

 He shrugs. “Working in IT, you get used to seeing tiny details. I don’t know. Just the way you looked sad, sometimes, when we were talking.”

 “I’m not in love with him,” she protests, and then flushes a second later, embarrassed.

 “Look,” Moss says. “I’d love to go on another date with you. You’re funny, and sharp, and gorgeous.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt. “But I think we both know it wouldn’t be for the best. I think I should leave.”

 Embarrassed beyond belief, she puts on a dressing gown, and walks him to the door. 

 “I’m sorry,” Holly says quietly, opening the door for him.

 Moss laughs. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t great to make out with Commander Short, so don’t apologise too much. Perhaps I’ll see you around, someday?”

 She smiles at the hopeful tone in his voice. “Yeah. Perhaps.”

 He hesitates, and says, “Could I kiss you again?”

 Holly laughs despite herself, and nods. He draws her into a kiss that sears her, a kiss that, for a brief second, shows her what she could have. 

 But she closes her eyes, and it’s still Artemis she sees, so she lets him smile and wave at her and then she closes the door, and it’s just her in that apartment.

 Holly wipes off her makeup, and showers, and goes to bed.

 She lays there, and she can’t lie; she cries a little. But Holly Short is a pragmatist too, so she rolls over and goes to sleep, and dreams of Europe and holding hands and his cologne.

 

-

 

Artemis is in the middle of a call to Foaly about the SEAnet and their deadlines for the next month, checking everyone involved in the project is on time, and as he runs down the list, he sees that Moss hasn’t yet submitted his timesheet for yesterday.

 “Foaly,” he says, cutting Foaly off in his complaint about his useless intern. “Mr. Seą hasn’t lodged his timesheet yet.”

 Foaly laughs, and Artemis looks up at the videofeed.

 “He hasn’t come in yet this morning,” Foaly says, grinning. “He was out on a hot date last night.”

 Artemis raises his brows. “That’s all very well, but I wasn’t aware that had anything to do with his timesheet.”

 “Don’t you want to know who with?” Foaly asks, wiggling his eyebrows.  

 Something in Artemis sinks even as he says, politely, patiently, “Who?”

 “Holly,” Foaly says gleefully, and Artemis actually feels something in his heart contract so painfully that he thinks, for a second, he’s been shot. “Isn’t that great?”

 “Splendid,” Artemis manages, and the rest of the call, he’s on autopilot. When Foaly blessedly signs off, he sits at his desk, and stares at his dark computer screen, at his own reflection, and actually feels physically ill, feels like he’s about to throw up.

 But he forces himself to stand up, to go talk to Butler and the twins, because anything is better than this, than this incredible weight like the earth on his shoulders, and he’s drowning, but he buttons up his jacket and checks his hair, and closes the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god bless u for all the comments and kudos as usual!!
> 
> the end is in sight my dudes.............. ho ho hhohohoho


	15. dream a little dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holly gets back into art. Artemis makes a discovery.
> 
> (their paths begin to verge back together)

The lump of marble sits before her, accusingly blank, her tools laid on the little table like a meal. Holly stares at them; it’s been a long time since she sat before raw materials, with time on her hands and music in her ears.

 She’s playing the album of that band Cathy recommended to her. It’s Monday afternoon, and the small but spacious private studio Peridota has given her is empty, sim-sunlight coming through the windows. 

  No time like the present, and she rolls up her sleeves, picks up the thicker chisel. Peridota had offered her the latest tools, but Holly prefers the traditional way; there’s a meditative quality to feeling the jolt rattle through her bones, creation through destruction.

 Peridota’s given her a course plan from previous years. It sits nearby, her own notes littering it, notes that began sparse and then grew like flowers as an old fire began burning in her. Holly has always preferred marble to clay; the coolness of it, the solidity. There’s a strategy to carving with rock that comforts her.

 Moss hasn’t contacted her, which she’s fine with. Foaly had given her a brotherly earful the next day, though, which had been surprisingly nice, if a little annoying, and Mulch had sent her a series of comforting, jokey messages when he had learnt the date had not ended, as he had hoped, with incredible sex.

 She hasn’t heard from Artemis.

 She considers messaging him, but what would she say? She doesn’t know.

_ I’m teaching art students, apparently. _

_  The wine here isn’t anywhere near as good. _

_  I miss Europe. _

_  I miss  _ you _. _

__ The last one is a new addition, and it sits unfamiliar, something she doesn’t fully understand, tinted with shame and self-doubt.

 Holly likes things simple, easy to categorize; it’s why it took so long for her to consider Artemis a friend. And this, this ache in the pit of her, isn’t something she can put in a neat box and set aside. This defies her culture, her mind.

 She hits the chisel in and gets to work.

-

 

The wedding is coming together nicely; partly because Artemis excels at a well laid plan, partly because he’s thrown himself into it.

 Everyday, he gets up; goes for a morning swim; works on the SEAnet. Has lunch, works on the wedding arrangements. Goes for a long walk, has dinner, reads a book until it’s time to go to bed, a routine that fills up as much of his day as possible.

 Because when he’s not moving or thinking or doing  _ something _ , the thought of Holly kissing someone else,  _ loving _ someone else, is like death by water torture, pain wearing him thin.

 Juliet and him prepare lunch, a week after Foaly’s casual bombshell, chopping vegetables side by side. Light soul music plays from Juliet’s bluetooth speaker. It’s companionable, easy, almost as easy as it is with Holly.

 Artemis sneaks a glance at her. Her dark blond hair is piled into a messy bun, up out of her eyes, her brown roots starting to show through. Her eyes, a deep brown, are intent on the onion before her. He used to have a crush on her, he remembers, when he was a preteen boy; Artemis used to admire her pretty smile and the devilish apples of her cheeks.

 Juliet is still pretty, of course; stunning, even. He tries to entertain the thought of the two of them, but can’t. She’s too much like a sister, and he has the sinking feeling that Holly will forever be in his mind, in his heart.

 “Do you reckon Minerva will wear a suit?” Juliet asks him, shaking him from his thoughts.

 “I’m not sure,” he says, frowning. “I’m seeing her to organise her outfit soon, though. It will be spectacular either way.”

 “Because, like,” Juliet muses, “She would look  _ stunning _ in a suit. But I also feel like then she’d be playing into the whole heteronormativity thing.”

 “I’m a straight, cis male,” Artemis says, sliding the capsicum he’s cutting into the salad bowl. “I couldn’t presume to say how she feels about it. Besides, I’ve never really seen Minerva wear a suit. I’d be inclined to say she’ll be wearing an extravagant gown, knowing her.”

 “Yeah, good point.” Juliet pauses, and then quickly says, “I sent Holly a message yesterday.”

 Artemis looks up, warning written in his eyes. She holds up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything suspicious!” she protests. “Besides, I wasn’t asking just for  _ you _ . She’s my friend too, you know.”

 Artemis says, after a moment, “Did she say anything?” For hope is a persistent thing, and even as he says it, he braces himself.

 “Yeah, actually,” Juliet says. “Hold on.” She takes out her phone and passes it to him. He holds it like it’s a newborn child.

 Juliet’s message is simple:  _ hey, sorry i didnt send this sooner, but the house is boring without you! hope haven is treating you well x _

__ Holly’s reply is just as straightforward and frustratingly lacking into any clues as to what she’s feeling:  _ its ok. an old teacher has sucked me into doing some part time teaching at her art school, so thats keeping me busy. mulch sends his love, btw. _

__ Attached, a selfie of Mulch and Holly somewhere, eating something, he can’t focus on anything other than her face. Mulch wears a beam, and Holly’s smile is genuine but not so enthusiastic.  Her hair is an inch or so longer, starting to get in her eyes; he can see in her outstretched arm taking the photo, her muscles are a little bigger than he remembers, and he aches. He says nothing; hands her back her phone, and starts cutting the tomatoes.

 Teaching at an art school? He wonders how that came about, tries to picture her teaching sculpture. He can’t, but he wants to, wants to so badly make a couple of calls and cram himself into Haven’s tiny streets, but instead he slices the tomatoes, one by one.

 

-

 

Her first class does not go well; she walks in, and everyone looks at her in confusion, as if she’s wandered somehow by accident into the studio. It throws her off, used to unflinching attention and respect on the occasion she gives an address at Section Eight, so she falters over her words, and all the students seem fearful or awestruck, not focusing on their work at all. She goes home embarrassed and angry, and punches a hole in the punching bag at her apartment complex’s gym.

 And then she comes in for the Friday morning class, and the students aren’t quite so shocked by her, and this time she went over her notes the night before. She takes a seat in front of her own chunk of marble and gestures to them.

 “So,” Holly says. “Following on from Wednesday, I’ve done a little bit more on mine, so you can see what you’re aiming for.”

 In her office, sits the prototype marble bird, the test-run. In front of her, much bigger and much  _ more _ , sits the beginnings of its sister. Big chunks dug out of it, hinting at the sculpture beneath.

 “Marble is an intimidating material to work with,” she says. “But luckily for us cave-dwellers, we’ve got plenty of it.” The students chuckle, and she’s gratified. “For the next week, don’t worry about perfection or specifics; just strip the marble back into a shape. Be… bold. Otherwise you’ll finish this course and not even get to the scraping stage.”

 She demonstrates by forgoing the chisel and just hammering the part she wants gone; someone laughs as the chunk of marble soars into a pile of books and knocks them over.

 “Maybe not so bold,” she amends, and waves them off to their stations. Once they settle in, and the sound of cracking stone fills the air, she starts walking around, checking up on them.

 It’s a mixed bag, this class; some people are there to try a new hobby, some there to fill up credits in their college courses. Only a few are dedicated to their marble blocks, and only one appears to know what they’re doing.

 A gnome, of all the People, with buzzed hair that makes Holly miss her own bare scalp, and thick limbs characteristic of the worker gnome families. Her eyes flash with passion, and she chisels out chunks of the stone with a confidence her fellow students are lacking.

 Akafi Alfur, Holly remembers after a few seconds. In her last class, she had sat there quietly as Holly bumbled her way through, and today is no different. Holly lingers by her side, watching her.

 “This isn’t your first time carving, is it?” Holly says to her.

 Akafi shakes her head, focusing on her rock. Holly hasn’t seen many gnomes on the campus here. Her dark clothing stands out amongst the more colorful garb the others are wearing.

 “What got you into it?” Holly asks, and Akafi looks up, hesitantly, and signs in Gnommish,  _ Can you understand sign? _

__ Ah. Holly clumsily signs back,  _ yes, but I can’t sign good. _

__ It’s a yearly, mandatory class that everyone in the LEP had to undergo. And her father had been unable to speak himself. The signs are awkward on her hands, but she remembers them well. Akafi smiles, and her next signs are slower, more deliberate.

_ I saw your  _ -a sign that Holly thinks must be sculptures _ \- a few years ago, and they sparked my interest. I prefer -  _ dirt? No, clay, of course- _ but I tried with marble on my own. I like it. _

__ “What are you making?” Holly asks her.

_ A fabric study _ , she replies. 

  Holly raises a brow. “That’s ambitious.”

_ So was aiming to be the first female captain of the LEP _ , Akafi signs back with a smile, and Holly grins.

 “Alright, you got me there. I’ll leave you to it.”

 Akafi, of course, becomes her favourite student in a matter of days. The girl makes the extra effort, showing up everyday to work on her sculpture, and soon it becomes a habit to greet her in the late morning on the way to her own office, and not once does the girl ask her about anything other than art. 

 Holly appreciates that a lot.

-

 

“I can’t decide what I want to wear,” Minerva complains to him. She sits on the side of the pool, dipping her feet in the warm water, as Artemis does laps of breaststroke, keeping his head above water so he can talk to her. “Part of me wants a nice, simple, elegant gown, part of me wants a couture event, part of me wants to show up in my pajamas.”

 “I refuse to let you show up at your own wedding in a nightgown,” Artemis tells her, breathing slightly laboured from the exertion. 

 “Cathy’s already picked out her dress. She looks… amazing. I love my fiancee so much.”

 “It’s bad luck to see your bride’s dress before the wedding,” he admonishes her.

 She shrugs. “My fiancee is beautiful. Sue me.”

 “Does your father still have your mother’s dress?”

 “Oh,” Minerva says. “That’s not a half bad idea.”

 “Yes, I’m know for those.”

 “My fiancee will love it,” Minerva says dreamily.

 “You really love saying that, don’t you?” Artemis grins, and she kicks some water at him.

 “Holly’s invited, of course,” Minerva says, and Artemis slows to a stop.

 “We talked about this,” he says warningly.

 “So?” Minerva says lazily. “Cathy and I want Holly there. It’s none of our business what happened between the two of you.”

 “She doesn’t want to  _ see me _ ,” Artemis says, wading towards her. “And I don’t want you putting her in an uncomfortable position.”

 “Well, you could just… not come to the wedding?” Minerva says innocently, and yelps when he splashes her.

 

-

 

 “Alright,” Mulch says. “I’m calling it. I’ve had enough.”

 Holly looks at him. He’s got the remote in his hand, and the rom-com they’re watching is paused. 

 “What?” Holly says, bewildered. 

 “You need to talk to him.” Mulch points the remote at her. “As your best friend, I am telling you, it’s time.”

 “I wouldn’t say  _ best _ friend…”

 “You’ve been stewing in your own misery for the past four weeks.”

 “I’ve been out and about,” she protests.

 “The two are  _ not _ mutually exclusive.”

 “What would I even say?”

 He gestures. “Pass me your phone.”

 Holly glares at him. “What are you going to say?”   
 “I’ll read it out to you,” Mulch promises with sincerity, and she reluctantly passes it to him. He presses a few buttons, and Holly stills as she hears that Mud Man dial tone. 

 Her eyes lock with Mulch’s, and he rolls off the couch as she launches herself for the phone. She pins him, rips it off him.

 “ _ Holly _ ?” Artemis says, his voice so hesitant and so full of relief, and her breath catches. Mulch gives her the thumbs up from where she has her knee in his gut, and she glares at him furiously, lets him sit up and gestures,  _ get out of here. _

 

-

 

Agonising silence for a few seconds, and then Holly speaks.

 “ _ Artemis _ ,” she says. He feels his chest contract with it.

 “How are you?” He asks eagerly, and then grimaces at his own enthusiasm _.  _

 “ _ I’m… okay,” _ she says awkwardly. He wonders if this phone call was an accident, considers giving her an out, but it’s been twenty eight days and she’s here, talking to him, and all his self-imposed restrictions are flying out the window.

 “Minerva and Cathy are engaged,” he offers, hoping this will stimulate the conversation, and it works.

  “ _ That’s wonderful,” _ she says warmly. 

  “And I’m planning the wedding,” he adds.

  “ _ Now that’s something I never thought you’d say.” _

__  “I’m actually pretty good at it,” he tells her, sitting down at his desk. “I was in the middle of organising the napkins when you called me.”

  “ _ Napkins?” _

__  “You can’t have a wedding without napkins, Holly,” he says.

  “ _ I’ll have to take your word for it, _ ” she says, amusement in her tone, and Artemis is gone, besotted, hope in every part of him.

  “Do you know how many different types of ways there are to fold a napkin?” he asks her.

 “ _ Uh.” _

__ “Over  _ fifteen _ , Holly,” he says. “I fear I may have to have Butler kill someone if another wholesaler asks me how I want them folded.”

 She laughs, and he thrills with it. 

 “ _ I stepped in for an old friend at an art school to help teach a course,” _ she says after a few seconds. “ _ You would be horrified. Half of them wouldn’t know their chisels if I smacked them with it.” _

__ “Juliet mentioned,” he says, and then winces; she says nothing, and he continues tentatively. “Were they shocked to see Holly Short walk into the studio?”

 “ _ Yeah. My first class was a nightmare. It’s been better since, though. They’re getting there.”  _ Holly pauses, and then says, “ _ I better go, sorry.” _

__ “Holly,” he blurts. 

  “ _ Yeah?” _

__ “I’m glad you called,” he says. “I… it was good. To chat.”

  A pause, and she says, “ _ Yeah.” _

__  “Would you be… would it be okay if I rang you sometime soon? To chat more?”

God, when did he turn into a snivelling adolescent? His heart pounds as he waits for her answer.

 “ _ Yes,” _ she says, and then hangs up. He sits in the chair for a good ten minutes, smiling, feeling so light he thinks he may burst with it.

 

-

 

“Was that so hard?”

“Mulch.” 

“Mm?”

“I love you, but if you  _ ever _ do anything like that again. I  _ will  _ kill you.”

“Fair.”

 

-

 

He aches with it, and tells Juliet when she pops her head in to say good night.

 “When are you going to call her?” she asks.

 “Tomorrow,” he says, and then frowns. “Is that too soon?”

 Juliet laughs. “I think… ring her the day after tomorrow. Give her some time to recover.”

 It’s good advice, and he hates it, can feel the seconds ticking by as he gets ready for bed. She hadn’t mentioned her date, and Foaly hasn’t brought it up since. Maybe it didn’t go well? Maybe it fizzled? 

_ Who are you kidding, Artemis _ , he tells himself, dragging himself back to reality.  _ It probably went wonderfully, and now it’s safe for her to be friends with you again. _

 God, he should be grateful for even this, that Holly hasn’t entirely disappeared off the face of the Earth, but his heart cries out at the thought, that he will have to sit and watch her be happy with someone else.

_ Whatever she needs me to be, _ he thinks, as minutes drag by,  _ I can be. And if that’s a friend, so be it. _

 He struggles to go to sleep until, abruptly, he is. He has that dream again, except this time, it’s clear; trackpants, lemurs, and then there’s-

_ Holly. Holly laughing and crying as he trembles with battered life. _

_  “You saved me again,” he says weakly, a smile sincere and grateful, and she beams, a hand on his cheek. _

_  “Of course I saved you,” she laughs. “I couldn’t do it without you.” _

_  And then his heart catches in surprise, because Holly Short is leaning down and  _ kissing _ him, magic sparking between them as her tears drop onto his cheeks, her forehead against his, and as the magic fades, she leans back, looking at him with the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen in his fourteen years- _

__ The dream skips, halters, and then-

_ “I’m so, incredibly, terribly sorry,” Holly says. “I… it was inexcusable, a disgusting and shameful mistake.” _

_  Artemis laughs, even as some part of his chest is like lead with this inevitability. “Holly. Please,” he says gently. She sits before him, and he can see in her posture, the tightness around her eyes, that the shame is engulfing her. “It’s fine. I accept your very unnecessary apology.” _

_  At a loss at how else to reassure her, he offers his hand, and she laughs, shakes it, and even as their conversation turns to other matters, he’s wishing things could have been different- _

__ Artemis’s eyes slam open.

_ Holly. It had been Holly all along.  _

 And suddenly, everything makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait guys! last couple of weeks was super busy, but here we are!!!!!!!!!!  
> next chapter...... will be Good..... i Promise..
> 
> (someone commented expressing their concern this fic wasn't going to have a happy ending. i Strongly Assure you this is not the case)


	16. dinner for six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holly washes her hair outside. Artemis makes Foaly late to dinner.

Holly is sitting in her studio the next day, shuffling through her class notes and looking for examples of carving technique to upload onto the course’s online profile, when there’s a knock at the door.

 Akafi stands in the doorway, a heavy bag slung over her shoulder.  She looks shy; Holly smiles.

_ Sorry to bother you _ , she signs.  _ Could you come have a look at my sculpture? _

__ “Sure,” Holly says, picking up her own satchel and putting her tablet back in. She follows Akafi down to the studio, and whistles when she sees the marble sitting in the corner.

 It’s gorgeous, even though the shape is just forming; it’s clearly a thick fabric draped over a circular post.

 “That looks amazing,” she says, stepping closer and examining it with a keen eye. “I’d say you’re ready to start with the rasp, now.”

_ Alright, _ Akafi says.  _ Thanks. _ She pauses, and then signs, hesitantly,  _ Are you going to be teaching here for the rest of the year? _

__ She almost says no, but hesitates.

 “I don’t know,” Holly admits. “I’m mainly doing this to fill up my spare time while I’m on leave. But… I could be persuaded to do weekends, maybe?”

 Akafi smiles widely.  _ I’m glad _ , she signs. 

-

 

“Holy shit,” Juliet says.

 “She kissed me first,” Artemis says breathlessly. “All this time, I thought it was someone else, but it was  _ her _ . _ That’s _ why she was so horrified,” Artemis tells her. “Because she thinks she’s made another mistake. But it’s  _ not _ .”

 “What are you going to do?” she asks him, and all the breath goes out of him; he slumps down into his chair.

 “I don’t know,” he says, running a hand through his hair, and the words feel so foreign on his tongue. “I have no idea.”

 “Have you called her yet?”

 “No. But I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone.”

 “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

 They both lapse into silence, and suddenly Artemis’s phone rings. He fumbles for it, answers the call:

 “ _ Artemis _ ,” Foaly says cheerfully. “ _ The prototype is done.” _

__ “Oh,” Artemis says, trying not to sound disappointed. “Excellent.”

_ It’s just Foaly _ , he mouths at Juliet.

  “ _ Now, I know you’ve seen the model, but I think it’s best you come down to Haven and take a look at it in person. I don’t want a repeat of last year when I gave the go-ahead for the plans and you gave me an earful.” _

__ Come? To Haven? He stares at Juliet, who, unable to hear Foaly’s side, is gesturing at him in annoyed confusion.

 “ _ Artemis?”   _

__ “Yes! Yes. Of course. When do you need me there?”

 “ _ Day after tomorrow works for me. We can have you over for dinner after. Get the whole gang back together, and what not.” _

__ “Sounds fantastic,” he says earnestly. “I assume the LEP stationed at Tara will be notified?”

 “ _ No, I’m going to let them just have a panic attack when a Mud Man just wanders up and lets themself into the station,”  _ Foaly says drily. 

 “I’ll be at Tara by twelve,” Artemis says, ignoring this. “Are you able to arrange overnight accomodation for me?”

 “ _ Of course. Will Butler be joining us?” _

__ “No. Just me.” Butler holds no love for Haven’s tiny walkways, and Artemis doubts he could fit into Foaly’s apartment.

 “ _ It’s a date, Mud Boy. See you then.” _

Artemis disconnects the call, and looks up at Juliet.

 “I’m going to Haven on Wednesday,” he says. 

 Juliet blinks. “Well. That makes this a lot easier, doesn’t it?”

 “Yes and no. I doubt I’ll have any one on one time with Holly,” he says. 

 Juliet shrugs. “Well, extend your stay.”

 Artemis snaps his fingers sarcastically. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

 “I mean, what have you got to lose?” Juliet says, ignoring this. “Aside from your dignity, of course.”

 

-

 

“Wednesday will be good,” Mulch says casually, and she looks up at him over the apple she’s slicing. He lazes on her couch, watching some documentary on his phone.

 “Wednesday?”   
 “Hasn’t Foaly told you yet? He must have forgotten.”

 “Forgotten what?”

 Mulch looks at her innocently. “Artemis is coming down into Haven to check on their ocean net thing.”

 “SEAnet,” Holly says automatically, and then pauses as what he said actually catches up to her. “Wait- Artemis is-?”

 “Yeah. Foaly wants everyone to come over for dinner. Get the gang back together, those were his exact words.”

 Holly stares at the apple.

 “Come on,” Mulch says. “It’ll be fine. Fun, even.”

 “You’re not the one who’ll be dying of embarrassment the entire time,” she snaps. “Great. Now I  _ really _ need a haircut.”

 “Why?”

 “To look-” she catches herself, points the knife at him. “No. I’m not playing this game.”

 “It was fine when you spoke to him on the phone. And you won’t be stuck alone with him. Unless you want to be, obviously,” he adds slyly.

 “I swear, you better not have said anything to Foaly,” she threatens.

 “Nah, Foaly’s lame. He wouldn’t understand like I do.” Mulch scratches his beard. “I should probably bring something to eat, huh? I’m guessing a hunk of my favourite dirt probably won’t be a good idea?”

 But Holly isn’t really paying attention, consumed by a strange anxiety that’s equal parts fear… and… excitement? Relief? She doesn’t know, so she just keeps chopping her apple, hoping it will clarify itself.

 

-

 

Artemis examines his freshly cut hair. He refuses to go to Haven looking anything less than exceptional, the sides of his hair cut back very short once more, the length on top as Errol Flynn-esque as Butler (a trained barber, of course) can get it.

 “Perfect, as usual,” he says, as Butler brushes the stray hairs from the back of his neck with a towel. “Is there anything they didn’t train you in, Butler?”

 “If there is, I have yet to find it.”

 Artemis turns his jaw side to side. “I should probably get rid of this stubble.”

 “I’ll just trim it,” Butler says. “It’s a little too scraggly for you to leave as long as it is.” He changes the head on the clippers, and Artemis sits back in his chair obligingly.

 “What are you going to say to her?” he asks.

 “I was hoping you could give me some ideas,” Artemis admits.

 “I think,” Butler says, “You should just act like normal. If she wants to talk to you about it, she will.”

 Artemis sighs. “I know.”

 “What are you going to wear?”

 “Something casual, but tasteful. Likely my favourite plain dinner suit.”

 Butler laughs. “I wouldn’t call that casual.”

 Artemis looks up at him, affronted. “What would you suggest?”

 “A classy pair of pants. A nice jacket. A simple shirt.”

 “I think Holly would be more comforted by me wearing a suit than casual clothes,” Artemis says.

 “Perhaps. But you want her to see you as different from your younger self, don’t you? The easiest way to do that is to dress differently.”

 “Eurgh. Fine. But I’m  _ not _ wearing sneakers.”

 “What do you take me for?” Butler says, frowning at him. “I want this to end happily, not in  _ tears. _ ”

-

 

Holly is having a go at clay sculpture on a whim; it had been sitting in a tub, and she had just planned to stop by and confirm her next batch of class notes with Peridota, and something.. struck her.

 It’s fun at first, a turtle taking shape from the moist clay, and then she trips over someone’s forgotten bag when she’s bringing some tools back to the bench and reaches out to grab something to steady herself. That something is the spare tub of clay, which tips and falls and empties its contents on her head as she slips and lands on the floor.

 Holly lays there for a bit, cursing everything and everyone, and then carefully picks the majority of it out of her head before sitting up.

 Fan _ tastic _ . She grumbles as she walks over to a reflective surface, trying to assess the damage. Clay everywhere, in her scalp and matting her undercut together.

 “Need some help, my dear?” Peridota says from the doorway, amusement in her voice. Of  _ course _ she would walk in now.

 “Is there a big sink I can wash my hair out in?” Holly asks her, grimacing as she tries to tug out a stubborn piece from her hairline. “I can’t walk home like this.”

 “Come with me. There’s a sink for the painters to wash their brushes outside.”

 Which is how Holly Short finds herself bending over a tap and trying to wash her hair as a bunch of students stare at her from their queue, dirty brushes in their hands. She’s aggravated, embarrassed, and when she comes home, her shoulders wet and cold, she takes out her old clippers and with a satisfaction she hasn’t had in a while, shaves her head down like she’s a cadet once more. 

  She stares at herself in the mirror, mismatched eyes and burly arms and nods. This.  _ This _ is Holly Short. 

 Holly has a shower, relishing in the feel of her bristled scalp. She can feel all the old scars from her years as a Captain, and it’s grounding to her. This scar- from Munich. That scar- Italy.

 This scar; Russia.

 All of these things are her. And it feels silly, but. The Holly Short with a shaved scalp is what she needs right now, that confidence.

 (Artemis always liked her shaved head, some part of her thinks, and Shaved-Head Holly is okay with this thought, because she always liked it too.)

 

-

 

A knock on his door as he carefully packs away clothes for his overnight visit and he looks up; his father stands there.

 “Father,” he says in surprise, and Artemis Sr. smiles.

 “Can I sit down?”

 “Of course,” Artemis says, and his father takes a seat on his bed as Artemis folds up his favourite pair of pajamas.

 “It feels like we haven’t seen much of you, lately. I thought I would… spend some time with you before you head off tomorrow morning.”

 Artemis is touched, and a little ashamed. “I’m sorry, Father. Between Minerva’s wedding and my current venture-”

 “I know. You’re busy at the moment. It’s a shame though, I would have liked to spend some more time with Commander Short. I can never repay her or the fairies the debt we owe them for bringing you back to us.” He pauses, and a fatherly concern comes over his face. Artemis braces himself.

 “Butler… he said the two of you had a disagreement?”

 Artemis hums. “That’s one way of putting it.”

 “I see.”

 “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he says immediately, and Artemis Sr laughs.

 “I know. Butler made it clear to me that was the case. I just thought- if you wanted to talk about it…”

 “I love her,” Artemis says, and Artemis Sr blinks. “And I won’t just let the chance we have to be happy together fade into the night because of our differences.”

 “I have to admit,” his father says. “That’s not at all what I was expecting you to say.”

 “What were you expecting?” Artemis says with a smile.

 “I honestly have no idea. But not that.” Artemis Sr pauses. “How did this happen?”

 “It crept up on me.”

 “Love has a way of doing that. Does she feel the same?”

 “I think she feels  _ something _ towards me. By the day after tomorrow, hopefully, things will be a little clearer.”

 “Are you prepared for her to say no?”

 “No,” Artemis says. “I could never be prepared. But I will respect her wishes. I could not bear to lose her friendship.”

 “Good. But I hope,” his father adds, “She says yes. She would make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”

-

 

Holly looks at her phone in mingled dread and anticipation as it rings at eleven at night, and relaxes when she sees it’s Foaly.

 “ _ Holly _ ,” he says in a very apologetic voice, “ _ I can’t believe I forgot to tell you but-” _

__ “Mulch told me. Dinner at yours tomorrow, right?”

 “ _ Well, at least that dwarf is good for something. So you can come?” _

__ “Of course,” she says, glad he can’t see her expression. Not that she knows what it  _ is _ . Just that it wouldn’t be… enthusiastic. “I’ll be there. Six o’clock, right?”

 “ _ Bless. Would you be able to bring some fruit or something for dessert? We have the meal covered, Mulch is bringing… something. I’m not going to rely on him for much, if I’m honest.” _

__ “Sure.”

_ “I’m really sorry again. I don’t know how it slipped my mind to tell you, but I remembered to tell  _ Mulch _.” _

_  “ _ You can make it up to me by eating whatever it is Mulch brings,” she grins.

_ “On second thought, maybe I’m not so sorry. You’re a tough, independent elf. I’m sure you’ll grow past this.” _

__ “I’m actually inconsolable,” Holly says with a straight face. “I’ll never be the same.”

_ “What a shame. See you tomorrow,” _ Foaly says, and hangs up before she can say anything else.

 

-

 

The pixie and elf who greet him at Tara look appropriately terrified. Which truth be told, Artemis doesn’t mind too much. He may have turned over a new leaf- an old leaf now, he supposes- but it’s shamefully gratifying every now and then to be reminded of the legacy of his cunning and intellect, however awful its roots.

 “Good morning,” he says with a gracious smile, and the pixie flinches. 

 “Right this way,” the elf says, and the two of them lead him down to the pods. They step into the elevator.  

 The pixie says, in a voice Artemis clearly is not meant to hear, “I thought he was a kid?”

 “Mud Children grow up quickly, Cygnus,” the elf mutters back. “Didn’t you pay  _ any _ attention in the seminar last year?”

 “Yes!” The pixie hisses. “Well, maybe. No. But he’s so  _ tall.  _ Are Mud People meant to be this tall? Feels… unnatural. All the chemicals, I bet.”

 A younger Artemis perhaps would have interrupted this poorly hushed conversation with a pithy remark, but right now, Artemis is thrumming with a surprising optimism, and by extension, an alarming amount of goodwill.

 “Are you serious, Cygnus? Haven’t you heard Trouble’s stories about the Butler who fought trolls?”

 Ah. Butler will be glad to hear his legend still lives on.

 “Fine. But I  _ definitely  _ heard stories about him having fangs.”

 The elf sighs. “Oh, my  _ gods _ , Cygnus. He isn’t a  _ vampire _ .”

 The elevator door opens and they step out; Artemis has trouble containing his grin. He doesn’t want to alarm anyone. 

 The elf shows him to an automated pod, and Artemis straps himself in, and minutes later, he’s on the way to Haven- and to Holly.

 

-

 

Holly thrums with nervousness the entire day. She keeps running her hands over her head, rubbing the scratchy fuzz of it. Right now, Artemis Fowl is in Haven, only a few blocks away, and it’s… unbearable. She hates waiting, a character flaw so integral she’ll never be able to overcome it, and after she potters around the apartment she takes to the gym, pumping iron until every muscle in her body is begging her to stop. And then she goes for an hour long jog, and when she stumbles because her thighs are giving out, it’s four in the afternoon and she only has two hours to get ready and go to Foaly’s. Ample time, she realises in her rush up to her apartment, now she doesn’t have to do her hair anymore.

 So she peels her sweaty clothes off and has a long, relaxing shower, forces herself to slowly, meticulously wash herself, stretching out while the heat unwinds her. She towels herself off, scrubs her head dry.

 On goes her elderflower perfume, dabbed at her wrists and behind her ears, and because she wants to, because why  _ shouldn’t  _ she, she puts on some mascara and a hint of blush. It’s not much, but… she likes how it makes her eyes brighter and bigger, and how the blush sets off the mismatched eyes she’s grown accustomed to.

 She put makeup on before her date with Moss to play a role; she puts makeup on now for herself.

 And then Holly goes to her wardrobe. The tailored clothes hang to the side, out of mind; they’re so lovely she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. She considers putting on that cream playsuit, but can’t bring herself to do it. And the jumpsuit she wore on the date with Moss- as appropriate as it would be for a dinner party- she can’t bring herself to pull that out either.

 The answer comes to her as she wrenches aside a heap of freshly cleaned laundry, and she grins.

 Perfect.

 

-

 

Several hours later, when Artemis finally arrives at the LEP tech lab after a seemingly endless customs examination and an even more seemingly endless ride into Haven, he is exceptionally relieved to be away from fairies who stare at him like he’s about to turn into a bat and maybe steal someone’s watch in the process. 

 Luckily, Artemis is highly impressed by the prototype. Foaly hovers behind him anxiously, as Artemis turns the automated buoy in his hands.

 “It looks fantastic,” he admits. “I can’t find anything wrong with it.”

 “Ye gods,” Foaly says dramatically. “Finally, those virgin pixies I sacrificed at the Mud Man altar have come in handy.”

 Artemis sets the buoy down. “How long until they’re ready for me to bring to the UN?”

 “Three months, give or take a week. I’m still running diagnostics on the code, the newest release of which you  _ still _ haven’t looked at.”

 “I am planning a  _ wedding _ , Foaly,” Artemis says, amused. “And making use of every connection I have to set up my eventual proposal for this device. It’s a little time consuming.”

 “Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. I’m sure the soon to be Mrs. Paradizo is very grateful.”

 “Oh, she is. I’m an exceptional wedding planner.”

 “So just to confirm,” Foaly says. “You have nothing to add to this prototype, and I can send it off for production once the code is finalised?”

 “Yes and yes. It has the Fowl stamp of approval.”

 “I know you’re joking,” Foaly mutters, “And yet, I don’t think you are, somehow.”     

 Artemis checks his watch; still another two hours before dinner, and he sighs.

 “While we have time, why don’t you show me the new release on the code?”

 “An excellent idea. I suspect you’ll be a lot less agreeable on this, though.”

 “Ah, maybe I’ll surprise you.”

-

 

“Twenty five minutes late,” Cabaline sighs from the kitchen. “I should be surprised. But I’m not.” 

 “I bet they’re arguing,” Mulch says wisely, and Doodah laughs from his seat next to Mulch, a sim-beer in his hand. 

 “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says. 

 Mulch leans in and murmurs to Holly, “You going okay?”

 She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

 It’s a lie, and Doodah and Mulch exchange a Look. 

 “Loving the new haircut by the way, Commander,” Doodah says. “Looks like you’re about to beat someone up.”

 “If you’re lucky, it might be you,” Holly grins, and Mulch snorts into his beer.

 “Woah now,” Doodah says, innocently. “No need for threats.”

 “You better watch out, pixie,” Mulch says. “I’ve seen Holly rip apart a chunk of marble with her bare hands.”

 “Mulch, your lies are as extravagant and flattering as ever,” Holly says. 

 There’s the sound of the electronic lock beeping, and Holly feels every muscle in her tighten, her fingers clenching around the sim-gin and tonic Caballine had poured for her.

 “Sorry we’re late,” Foaly says, wiping his hooves on the doormat as he comes through the front door. “But  _ someone _ insisted on reformatting my  _ code _ from the ground  _ up _ .”

 “You say that like I didn’t save you hours of wasted time and angry centaur tears,” comes a familiar voice, and Holly’s heart is in her throat as Foaly steps into the house, revealing Artemis behind him. She watches Artemis hang up his jacket, set down an overnight bag. He’s wearing those high waisted, woolen trousers from so long ago, and a long sleeved, loose fitted tee, a shockingly casual look for him that has her swallowing. His hair falls into eyes- a fresh cut, she realises- as he rolls up his sleeves. His head almost brushes the ceiling, and the sudden breathless desire to laugh overtakes her.

 “I don’t  _ cry _ ,” Foaly retorts. “Especially not over code.”

 Artemis laughs, still looking down as he rolls up his other sleeve. “I thought you cried when your first was born?”

 “That’s different,” he sniffs. “Manly. An emotional response to seeing the beauty of new life.”

 “Well, thanks to me, you’ll avoid an emotional response when you realise your formatting is  _ awful _ ,” Artemis replies, and looks up.

 His eyes lock with Holly’s and for a moment, it’s just the two of them. It’s not anything anyone else might notice, she thinks, but she sees how he blinks, how his mouth parts just a little, and Holly shivers.

 “Foaly cries all the time,” Mulch says lazily, and breaks the spell. “I outwitted him for years. I should know.”

 “Mulch, you absolute madman,” Artemis says fondly. “It’s been too long.”

 “You know my partner, Doodah, of course,” Mulch says.

 “How could I forget?” Artemis grins. “I trust the PI business is booming?”

 “With Holly on vacation and off the streets? You better believe it,” Doodah says.

 “Artemis!” Caballine calls from the kitchen, and Artemis glances at Holly once more- a glance so loaded with a subtle something she fears her glass is going to crack under her grip- and then crosses into the kitchen to say hello.

 Mulch pats her leg, and Foaly says grumpily, “If you’re all quite done disparaging me, I’m going to pour myself a drink.”

 “Aw, Foaly,” Holly grins, patting him on the flanks as he passes. “We love you.”

 “Mm,” Foaly says, taking out a wine glass. “ _ Mm. _ ”

 Artemis reappears with a plate that even in his Mud Man sized hands, looks big- loaded with food,  _ creaking _ with it.

 “I hope that’s enough,” Caballine says anxiously. “I don’t know how much you eat, Artemis.”

 “It’s more than enough,” he assures her, setting the food on the coffee table. He takes a seat next to Doodah. There’s a free spot to Holly; she doesn’t know if she’s glad or offended.

 “Oh,” he says suddenly, “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  He stands up, crosses the room and pulls something out of his bag; a bottle of sherry.

 “Customs did  _ not _ like me bringing this in,” he admits, placing it on the table. “But I think they were too afraid of me to say anything much about it.”

 “Oh, it’s been too long since I had Mud Man wine,” Mulch says gleefully. 

 “Oh, thank you Artemis,” Caballine says. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

 “My mother raised me to be a good houseguest,” Artemis says cheerfully. “I’m afraid it’s rather out of my hands.”

 So they sit, and drink, and eat, and Holly pretends like she isn’t sneaking glances at him, trying to gauge him as they rehash old stories for Caballine and Doodah; he’s as friendly to her as ever, but it’s like… it’s like he’s gauging her too.

 (She can’t stop thinking about how he had moaned beneath her.)

 

-

 

When he walks in, and sees Holly in that awful purple-green houndstooth jumper, her legs curled up beneath her and clad in tight black pants, barefoot and bare headed, Artemis wonders for a moment if it’s possible for his heart to physically crack his sternum open.

 If he thought hearing her voice on the phone was an ecstatic sort of pain, this is beyond that. It takes a remark from Mulch to remind him there are other people here, and he struggles to act like he isn’t aching to reach out to her, to tell her how the past month has felt like a year.

 He can feel her taking glances at him, her eyes burning him, but Artemis forces himself to act normally, to laugh at Mulch’s remarks and banter with Foaly. Holly joins in every so often, but she seems… not content, so much, but rather, cautious, remaining in a position of listening, rather than contributing.

 Mulch watches him too, in a way that makes Artemis suspect his dwarven friend is aware of what’s happened, and this is confirmed when Artemis takes the now empty platter to the kitchen and Mulch quickly follows him under the pretense of bringing his empty glass of water for a refill.

 “I love the two of you,” Mulch says quietly. “And if you ever say I said that, I’ll eat you whole.”

 “Alright,” Artemis says.

 “And I know you’re being careful around her. And I’m glad, because I think there’s hope for the two of you yet.”

 “And what makes you think that?” Artemis says, scraping the plate into the eco-bin.

 Mulch leans in as there’s a burst of laughter from the living room.

 “Because she only had a single date, Artemis,” he tells him quietly. “And she hasn’t seen him since.”

 Artemis stares at him, his mind whirring, and Mulch nods.

 “If you can talk to her,” he continues. “I think… you have a really solid chance for this to end happily.”

 “Mulch,” Artemis says, emotion swelling in his throat, and Mulch swats his arm.

 “Don’t you get all touchy-feely on me,” the dwarf says gruffly. “I’m just letting you know.”

 Artemis nods, and Mulch refills his water, and leaves him in the kitchen, grinning over the sink like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bOY YOU BEST BELIEVE I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER!!
> 
> thank you for all the lovely comments and views etc bc they are what is driving me to post update after update this quickly tbh mwah ty xoxo
> 
> (i cant fucking believe this fic is over 50,000 words long i have to keep reminding myself that it's not Sudden for this scene to happen ksdlsdkja)


	17. sherry and taxicabs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulch and Doodah are insufferable. Foaly drinks too much.
> 
> Holly and Artemis share a bed.

Watching Artemis in this tiny space disarms her nervousness, somehow; as they sit down at the table for dinner, his chair creaks beneath him and everyone falls silent, waiting to see if it’ll hold. Doodah, a few beers in, laughs until there are tears in his eyes, because he thinks for a moment Artemis has farted.

 The cutlery is just a little too small in his fingers, the glasses much the same, but Artemis, of course, is unaffected. Holly wonders if it’s his rich-boy upbringing, or just his usual apparent unflappable-ness. 

 He talks in Gnommish, perhaps to set Caballine and Doodah at ease, and his accent is, as she remembers, strange, but lovely. Once dinner is finished, he pours them all a glass of the sherry, and Foaly makes a toast.

 “To the SEAnet,” he says enthusiastically, deep in his glass at this point. “And to my intelligence.”

Holly barks a laugh before she can stop herself, and Artemis and her momentarily lock eyes, grin at each other, before she hastily looks away. 

 “And to Artemis, I suppose,” Foaly says reluctantly. “I could have done it without him, but he made it a little easier.”

 “Truly, your praise touches my heart,” Artemis says solemnly. 

 They drink; Holly can’t place the flavour right away, but then as Caballine switches on some electronic candles and the light becomes gentle, she realises; it’s the same sherry they drank in Banyoles.

 “Oh, this is top tier shit,” Doodah says, raising his glass to Artemis. “Nice job, Mud Boy.” 

 “I can’t take him anywhere,” Mulch says toHolly. 

 Holly helps Foaly take the dishes into the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher. When she comes back for Artemis’s plate, she can feel his eyes on her, that mismatched gaze, all the way back to the kitchen

 “Holly,” Foaly says, a little slurred. “I was meant to drive Artemis to his hotel, but. I have had to a little too much to drink. Perhaps.”

 Holly sighs. “Where is he staying?”

 “The Acorn. Near your side of town.”

 “I don’t know, Foaly,” she says. “I’m pretty tired. And Mulch is closer than I am.”

 Foaly jerks a thumb behind him; Mulch is saying something quietly to Doodah Dah, something even from here, Holly can tell is unfit for table conversation. Artemis meanwhile is chatting with Caballine, the two of them blessedly unaware of the smirk on Mulch’s face.

“Somehow, I think they’re going to be making a hasty exit,” Foaly says.

“Eurgh. Yeah, good call. Why don’t I just call Artemis a taxi?”

 Foaly fixes her with an incredulous look. “Yes, I’m sure the poor driver who sees Artemis Fowl step into their car will be completely fine with that. There’s no way that could possibly go wrong.”

 “Fine,” Holly says resignedly, glad Foaly is a little too drunk to see the look on her face, and brings out the little assortment of cakes she brought for dessert, from one of the more well loved bakeries in Haven. They quickly disappear, to no one’s surprise.

 “Holly,” Caballine says, drawing her attention. “Did I hear right? Peridota says you’re teaching sculpture downtown?”

 “Yeah,” Holly says. “You work for one of the galleries, don’t you?”

 “Mmhm. We’re actually coming by to do some advertisement in the next few weeks.” Caballine wiggles her brows. “Maybe you’d like to give a talk?”

 Holly crinkles her face up. “I’d rather not.”

 Caballine smiles. “Worth a try.”

 Mulch pops a fourth cake into his mouth and says, “We’re going to head off. I’m… so tired.”

 “Me too,” Doodah says, nodding vigorously. Foaly looks at pointedly at Holly:  _ I told you so. _

 “I’ll take you to your hotel whenever you’re ready, Artemis,” Holly says, steadfastly looking at the cake she’s picking at. “Foaly’s well past the legal limit for drinking and driving.”’

 “Are you sure?” Artemis says. “I’m happy to walk.”

 “Don’t be an idiot, Artemis,” Mulch says, pulling his jacket on. Holly shoots a look at him, which, of course, he ignores. “You’ll get mugged. And then Doodah and I will have to investigate who did it.”

 “In that case,” Artemis says slowly, “Shall we head off as well?”

 Holly shrugs her assent, watching him join Mulch and Doodah by the door as he pulls his jacket on. She kisses Foaly and Caballine on the cheek goodbye, slips her shoes on as Artemis says goodbye as well, and then the four of them bundle into the lift; Artemis has to hunch over a little and his overnight bag smacks Mulch in the face.

 Outside, it’s a standard Haven evening; cool but not cold, and Mulch and Doodah hail a taxi.

 “See you around, Artemis,” Mulch says, slapping him fondly on the thigh, and Doodah gives them a cheeky wave as he’s shoved into the car by his boyfriend. Mulch gives Holly a quick hug, mutters, “ _ Good luck, _ ” and then they’re gone, joining the mid-air traffic.

 “Car’s over here,” Holly says awkwardly, and they walk around the corner; the black car sits sleek and unassuming, and Artemis’s knees go up to his shoulders as he crams himself in after putting the bag in the back.  

 “Homey,” he says, and Holly chuckles despite herself, switching the car on and maneuvering to join the stream of traffic headed downtown.

 She’s waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he just sits patiently, looking out the window in interest, and it actually.. it makes her  _ mad _ . Has the past month been easy for him? Is what she did so unimportant, so unsurprising to him? 

 Gods, she went on a date; maybe he did too. Maybe it went better than hers, and the thought has her simmering in anger until she realises how utterly, incredibly ridiculous she is being. Despite everything she’s done, she’s his friend. He’s  _ her _ friend. 

 (But she wants more than that, and doesn’t know what to do about it.)

 

-

 

Artemis is glad for the discomfort of the elf-made car, because it distracts him from launching into a confession of love, or something similarly embarrassing. But he’s stayed at the Acorn before, and knows they aren’t too far away. He can’t lose this chance, he  _ can’t _ . 

 “I’d love to see the studio you’re working in,” he says suddenly with a fierce desperation he can’t hide. “I’m sure the students’ pieces would give me a chuckle.”

 It’s a flimsy olive branch, one he’s all but throwing at her, and he waits with bated breath as Holly blinks at the windscreen, and then, slowly, changes course.

 “You can’t be too mean,” she tells him. “Some of them aren’t half bad.”

 “That remains to be seen,” Artemis says, laughing with relief as they veer off to the left. 

 The studio is inside an art school that looks older than a lot of the buildings in haven, the smell of paint and clay strong in the walls. It’s dark and empty, of course; Holly lets them in after she disarms the security system, and she shows him down the hall. He can’t take his eyes off her, until she stops beside a large room, flips the lights on.

 It’s a little gallery; crammed with paintings and sculptures of every kind, and she points, says simply, “Those are mine.”

 Carved from marble, sit three abstract carvings on metal pedestals, and she follows behind as he approaches them.

 They’re striking, dramatic, elegant. The first one is a series of swirls that make him think of clouds; the second, sharp, jagged shapes that bring to mind an alien geometry, and the third is tender somehow, like a hand enclosing a heart.

 “Those were my final pieces before I left to go to the academy,” Holly says from behind him. 

 “What was the theme?”

 She shrugs. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I still don’t.”

 “You never did tell me why you left art school,” Artemis muses, turning to face her.

 Holly looks away. “There’s a lot I never told you.”

 And there it is; the perfect opening, but he has no idea what to say.

 “Holly,” he says hesitantly, and Holly turns to leave the room.

 “I’ll show you the studio, shall I?” she says, an odd tone in her voice, and he’s helpless to do anything but follow her.

 

-

 

That tone in his voice and she knows he’s going to try and open a conversation, so she all but runs from the room, walking just a little bit ahead of him, she doesn’t want to hear him say what she fears, that she’s  _ ruined _ everything.

 Her pulse thrums with nervousness, and she feels jittery, like she’s about to shield and float straight off the ground. They round the corner and she walks straight into the studio.

 “So this is Akafi’s, the girl I mentioned,” she says. “She’s doing a fabric study.”

 “Holly,” Artemis says gently.

 “I personally think she should be in an advanced course,” Holly says quickly.

 “ _ Holly _ ,” Artemis says, and she stops, looks at him, at how there’s a fond sort of frustration on his face, and there’s that tightness in her throat.

 “Holly, I-” he stops, exhales, runs his hands through his hair. That hank of it comes loose, hanging over his forehead, and she wants to tuck it behind his ear.

 “I thought about you every day,” Artemis tells her, and she exhales like she’s been punched in the stomach, because does he mean in disappointment, or-?

 “I…”

 “And I remember everything, now,” he continues. “I remember when you kissed me the first time.”

 She feels unsteady, steps away from him, dread lining every inch of her. “You do?”

 “Yes.”

 “And you hate me? For lying to you? For making the same mistake again?”

 Artemis gives her such a compassionate smile she feels tears coming to her eyes, because she knows he’s about to confirm her fears; that they’ll leave this building lesser.

  “Holly, I’ve been wanting to kiss you ever since we arrived in Italy. I’ve been wanting to tell you how I felt ever since Spain. I was  _ relieved _ when I remembered it was you who kissed me all those years ago, because the thought of it being anyone else was unbearable to me,” Artemis says. “Of course I don’t hate you. I- you’re  _ everything  _ to me, Holly. The last month has been hell without you.”

She stares at him.  

 “But if you don’t return my feelings,” Artemis says seriously, “Then I understand. I’ll never speak of it again, and we can return to being friends.”

 She should say to him,  _ yes, let’s just be friends _ . Her brain tells her this, tells her to say anything else will be to step willingly into the deep end.

 But her heart, oh, her  _ heart. _

__ “What if I do?” she says quietly, disbelievingly. “What do we do then?”

 “We take things day by day, like any other interspecies couple,” he says lightly, and Holly actually huffs a laugh. “Perhaps we’d go on dates. I’ve heard Haven has quite the nightlife. But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Holly,” he says, brows furrowed. “You don’t have to indulge my whims. If you want to remain friends...”

 He’s all the way across the room, and she leans back against the desk. 

 “What happens when you grow old?” Holly asks him. “What happens when our differences are too much?”

 “But what happens if we’re happy?” he says simply, and he’s got her there. What’s the point in having saved the world if she can’t enjoy it?

 “What happens,” Artemis says, “If we could have lived a good, happy life together, Holly? And instead, I marry someone who will never be as tough and funny as you, and you marry someone who will never be quite as witty and engaging as me?”

 Holly crosses her arms. “Now you’re just being arrogant.” But she’s smiling, and he’s smiling too, as he slowly walks towards her. He stops a foot away from her, and her mouth is dry, suddenly, as he lowers himself to one knee, so they’re almost eye to eye.

 He’s just as handsome as she remembers, of course. 

 “It’s not arrogant if it’s true,” Artemis says lightly, searching her face. “I’m the most witty and engaging man alive, after all.”

 Holly laughs, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe I missed you,” she tells him, and his face softens.

 “I missed you too,” Artemis says. “I missed you  _ so much _ , Holly.”

 This is her last chance; the last chance to ignore her heart. But Holly Short is an elf who has never been known for her logic, her emotional detachment, and she says to him with a boldness ruined by the waver in her voice, “Are you going to kiss me, or was that all talk?”

 “I would be delighted to,” Artemis whispers, reaching out and cradling her face with both hands; he presses his lips to hers.

 

-

 

She’s so warm, so impossibly warm, and Artemis slides his other hand around her waist and he’s  _ home _ .

 Their first kiss was born of relief; their second came from tension.

 But their third kiss, he thinks, is one of reassurance. Artemis, reassuring her he wants this; Holly, reassuring him she wants it too. The kiss is gentle, soft, but there’s a sensuality that further separates it from their previous embraces, a promise this kiss won’t be the last.

 They part, and he rests his forehead against hers, and realises both of them are teary. Holly rubs at her eyes with the heel of her palm, and he wipes away a tear she misses, and then she launches herself at him and all but latches onto him in a tight hug that unbalances him, has them both on the floor side-by-side, laughing.

 As they quiet, she turns her head to him.

 “I should have told you about the kiss,” she says. “I’m so sorry, Artemis.”

 “There’s nothing to forgive, Holly,” he replies, sitting up and brushing dust from his jacket. She stays lying on the floor, and he looks down at her fondly, and her up at him. “But if it makes you feel better: apology accepted.”

 “I want to kiss you again,” she says. “Come back down here.”

 “Absolutely not,” Artemis says. “I can already tell this clay dust won’t simply blot out.”

 Holly rolls her eyes, sits up.

 “Besides,” Artemis says gently. “I can think of better places to kiss you than the floor of an art school.”

 Holly grins impishly. “Artemis Fowl,” she teases. “Are you propositioning me?”

 “Only if you want me to be,” he says with a crooked smile. 

 “I’m surprised you don’t want to take it slow.”

 “Oh, I absolutely do. I plan to last at least an hour and a half, Commander.”

 A remark positively lewd for Artemis, and he flushes at his own forwardness. 

 

-

 

 “Why don’t we finish the tour first,” she suggests, because as much as he may mean his words, she doesn’t want to rush into sex with him. It’s been a long time since she’s had sex herself; a long time since she’s had to teach someone else how to touch her, since she’s had to learn the map of someone else’s pleasure.

 So she points out some of the other capable artists in her class, and Artemis makes some gently ruthless remarks, and at some point he reaches out, and they’re holding hands, as natural and easy as can be.

-

 

“Would you like to stay over at mine?” Holly asks him, looking straight ahead as they get into the car, and he recognises it now- she’s  _ nervous. _

 Artemis blinks. “I don’t think your couch is big enough for me to sleep on.”

 Holly gives him a dry look, and he smiles. “Well, I wasn’t going to  _ assume _ ,” he tells her.

 “I don’t mean to have sex, necessarily,” Holly says, and isn’t that the most surreal thing he’s ever said to her? “I just meant- the Acorn is nice, but…”

 “I’d love to,” he says seriously.

 The car ride is quiet, and even though Artemis feels like a sardine, he can’t bring himself to mind; only an hour ago, in the same car, he was trying to figure out what to say to her, and now he’s going to be sleeping in the same bed as her. He’s so utterly content and happy; if she had asked him to sit in the trunk of the car, he would have.

 Holly very carefully guides him up to her apartment, trying to keep him out of sight; it occurs to him that if he’s found here, it could cause a media storm, and a new appreciation for what Holly is putting aside for this- for them- makes him even warmer.

 Her apartment is a modern affair, with blessedly tall ceilings, sleek and white, but there’s touches of character throughout it too; some art, some photos, a pot plant and a colourful throw blanket. The whole of Haven shines through her window.

 “Do you want some water, or something?” Holly asks, closing the door behind her.

 “No, thank you.”

 They both stand there awkwardly, and Holly runs a hand over her head, scrubbing across the shortness of it.

 “I can take the couch,” Artemis offers again.

 “No, it’s fine,” Holly says. “It’s just… been a while since I did this.”

 “Since you had a guest stay over?”

 “No- you know! Since I’ve  _ dated _ someone.”

 “Well, I’ve  _ never _ dated anyone,” Artemis reminds her. “So I’d say we’re evenly matched.”

 “Mm. Bedrooms this way,” she says, and leads him down a little hallway. His hands feel a little sweaty, and he grips his bag tighter.

 Artemis has never really thought about sex before these last few months; never really thought about physical intimacy with someone else, if only because no one had ever caught his attention. Had he thought he was going to be a virgin for the rest of his life? No. But he had been prepared to wait far longer than this. And while he knows they aren’t about to do anything, he’s still.. nervous. And excited. And happy.

 Holly’s bedroom is messy, of course, clothes flung over a chair in the corner, and he sets his bag down just next to the doorway. He should be horrified by the state of it, but it’s so unapologetically  _ Holly _ , smells just like her, and astonishingly, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to lie here for as long as he can.

 The bed by human standards is a double twin, the covers pulled back and her pajamas carelessly tossed across her pillow.

 Holly clears her throat. “So. This is my bedroom.”

 Artemis reaches out and takes her hand and says, “Are you sure?”

 “Yes, I’m sure,” she says with a smile. “Let’s go to sleep. Listening to Mulch and Doodah talk shit all night has me exhausted.”

 Artemis reaches down to his bag to take out his pajamas, intending to change in the ensuite bathroom, so he’s struck dumb when Holly casually pulls off her jumper and tosses it to the ground, unbuttons the shirt beneath.

 “What?” she says, when she sees him staring, looking suddenly self conscious, and he chokes at the sight of her bare torso. She’s wearing a sports bra, and he thinks that’s for the best because he might legitimately  _ die _ if it was anything lacey.

 “You’re  _ beautiful _ ,” Artemis manages to say, and she colors, hopping on one leg as she pulls off her pants, boyleg underwear beneath it.

 She does turn away now, crossing to the bed to put on her pajamas, and he quickly looks away. He isn’t sure if he can match her sheer casualness. Out of his sight, she takes off her bra and puts on her pajamas.

 “Bathrooms through there if you’d feel more comfortable,” she says.

 “It’s fine,” Artemis assures her. “You just… surprised me. Very pleasantly.”

 Unlike Holly, he also isn’t about to crease his clothes, so he carefully hangs up his jacket on the wooden hanger he brought with him, slides his shirt over his head and folds it back into his bag, pretending this is all good and well and he isn’t stripping in front of Holly Short.

 Taking off his pants is the least sensual thing he has ever done in his life, just surpassing him having bend over to untie his oxfords, and he hangs the pants up as well and is setting to put on his pajamas when Holly says from her seat on the bed:

 “Can I see you?”

 He looks at her; her legs are under the quilt, and she’s covered in an oversized fleece jumper. She seems softer, and he only realises why when he sees the makeup wipes on the bedside table, smeared with black, her mascara and blush removed, a rare shyness in her expression.

 The affection in him surges, overpowering any embarrassment, and he turns to her properly, clad only in his boxer shorts, pajamas in his hands.

 Holly looks him up and down. “You’re positively buff. Is Artemis Fowl  _ exercising _ ?”

 “Swimming,” he says. “I quite like it. Very meditative.”

 “Mm,” Holly says, staring at his shoulders, at his chest, and she looks away, like she’s embarrassed, and he’s very glad for that stupidly named exercise plan Juliet created for him.

 “You don’t like what you see?” he teases.

 “I like it,” Holly mumbles. “Put on your pajamas, already.”

 Artemis pulls on his pants and top, and sits on the other side of the bed.

 “Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want me to take the couch?” he says to her. She’s wriggling under the covers until only her face remains above them, and it’s  _ cute. _

 “I’m sure,” she says solemnly. “Do you snore?”   
 Artemis raises a brow, slipping beneath the covers. “We travelled together for a month, Holly.”

 “Well, we weren’t sleeping in the same  _ bed. _ ”

 “No. I don’t snore. Do  _ you _ snore?”

 “Depends,” Holly says, a wry tone in her voice, and he joins her completely under the covers; his feet hang off the bed, but he couldn’t care less.

 “On what?”

 “On whether I’m big spoon or little spoon.”

 Artemis blinks at her. “Which one stops you snoring?”

 “Big spoon.”

 “Well, alright then. Impress me with your cuddling prowess, Commander,” he says, rolling over, and seconds later, Holly reaches around him tentatively; a motion of her hand and the lights go out.

 It takes a few minutes for the two of them to get comfortable; Artemis usually sleeps on his side, but he isn’t used to someone else’s arm under his pillow, and Holly shuffles around a bit before she settles.

 Silence, the warmth of her around him.

 “Good night, Holly,” he says quietly, turning his face back to her; his cheek bumps into her nose, and she huffs in surprise; a little kiss, probably meant for his cheek, lands on his ear.

 “Good night, Artemis.”

 And he falls asleep, so content, that if he were to die right then and there, he wouldn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HERE!!!!!! WE FINALLY HERE!!!!
> 
> thank u for the lovely comments..... only a few chapters left now and they are going to be Fluffy, Lovely and Good....
> 
> (and maybe a little spicy as well)
> 
> (maybe VERY spicy)


	18. clocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis and Holly spend a lazy day together.
> 
> (WARNING: this chapter is nsfw! not as explicit as it could be, but.... just fyi...)

Holly wakes up before Artemis does of course, still attuned to an interal military clock set decades ago. For a few seconds she’s disorientated by the unfamiliar weight in her bed, the warm body she’s encompassing incredibly ineffectively, until she remembers; a flush spreads across her face, a flush equal parts shock and something warm, something giddy.

She presses her face into his back and Artemis shifts a little in his sleep.

It feels… strange. Welcome, but strange; she lays there until nature calls. When she’s finished, she pops her head back into the bedroom, observing him; that dark, thick hair laid across her pillow, the shape of his feet hanging off the bed, and feels a terrible vulnerability.

 Has she made the right decision, she asks herself. Ultimately, this can end only in heartbreak of one kind or another. 

 But then, that could be said of every relationship, couldn’t it?

 

-

 

Artemis wakes to an empty bed he doesn’t fit in, and for a second, he wonders if Holly, full of regret, has left her own apartment. But someone is cooking in the kitchen; he can smell something sweet, and he relaxes. He goes to the bathroom, combs through his hair with his fingers, relieves himself, and then goes to the kitchen to find the beautiful sight that is Holly Short in a pair of shorts and a thick, oversized jumper, cooking pancakes.

 Caught up in flipping one, she doesn’t notice him, and he waits for her to set the pan back down until he steps in her line of sight.

 “Nice you see you’re up,” Holly says in English. “You were all but dead to the world.”

 “Good morning to you too,” he says in Gnommish, and bends down to kiss her sweetly. She has terrible morning breath. Artemis doesn’t care.

 “I hope you like poorly made vegan crepes,” she says apologetically. “I used to know the recipe by heart, but it’s been a while.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

 “If you could cut up the strawberries, that’d be good.”

 It’s so blissfully domestic, as he stands in that kitchen with her. He doesn’t ever want to leave the sanctuary of this apartment. Outside, he can see Haven bustling; in here, the only sound is the sizzle of the pan, the thunk of the knife. He slides the strawberries into a bowl she’s laid out, and drizzles some honey over them. Holly slides the last pancake onto the stack, and they sit at her little dining table in comfortable silence.

 “What time do you go back to Ireland?” she asks him.

 “Not until mid afternoon.”

 “That’s a strange time to leave. Foaly’s idea?”

 “No,” he says with a smile. “Mine. In the hope we would be spending time together.”

 Holly serves herself a second pancake. “Optimistic,” she says, but he sees her tiny smile. “How do you want to spend the day?”

 “With you,” he says. “And, if I may be so bold, in here.”

 “In the kitchen,” Holly smirks, “Or the bedroom?”

 Artemis gives her a smirk of his own. “That’s up to you.”

 They finish breakfast and load up the dishwasher, and as Holly is setting it to wash, Artemis bends down and kiss her neck for no other reason than because he can, and then he kisses it just a little closer to her ear because he wants to, and then he kisses the lobe of her ear because his heart is swelling with affection.

 She freezes, but he can see the look on her face isn’t discomfort, or surprise; it’s something he has only imagined.

 It’s arousal.

 (Elves have sensitive ears, he remembers. How could he forget?)

-

 

It’s taking all of her power not to arch back into him, her back prickling and her stomach hot, but it’s useless when he bites her earlobe and she moans, because this simple touch is better than anything she’s felt in a long time.

 “Is this okay?” Artemis asks her, his voice muffled against her neck.

 “Yes,” she mumbles, and gasps when he bites her ear a little harder. “Now that’s not fair,” she complains breathily.

 “How so?” Artemis says absently, planting a feather light kiss on the top of her ear that has her shivering.

 “You’re so tall,” she says. “You have the upper hand.”

 “I wasn’t aware this was a competition,” Artemis says, leaning back. She turns to face him, hand reaching up and pressing against his stomach.

 “Couch,” she says. “Now.”

 He looks at her, his pupils blown wide and crosses the room, sits there with a tight sort of patience, as she finishes in the kitchen, hits the switch to make the glass opaque in blind patterns.

 “I’m levelling the playing ground,” Holly says, and straddles him. His hands come to rest on the outside of her thighs, and he looks up at her.  Artemis Fowl, between her legs and at her mercy. It’s thrilling in a way she hasn’t been thrilled in a while. She lets her gaze drift over him lazily, appreciating the flush rising to his pale cheeks, the thud of his pulse in his neck.

 “Are you going to admire the scenery forever, Holly?” Artemis drawls, and she shifts on his lap, watching how his breath catches, his fingers tighten on her thighs.

 “I haven’t been letting myself enjoy the view for a long time,” she admits. “You may have to be patient with me.”

 “For you, Holly, I would wait a dozen lifetimes.” 

 “Wow.”

 “Too corny?”

 “A little.”

 “My apologies,” he says. “I’m still quite new to all of this.”

 “I’ll allow it just this once,” Holly whispers, and then they’re kissing with heat, and it’s like it was all those weeks ago but better,  _ more _ . 

 He gasps into her mouth as she grinds into him, a hand on his cheek and a hand on his chest, his fingers sinking into her ass, and he breaks the kiss to say, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

 “Good,” she mutters, kissing down his neck. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for years.”

 He laughs, and she wants more of him, was it always this consuming? She wanted to go slow, gentle, but  _ gods _ , Holly is only just realising how long the past three months have been, how this has been building ever since he woke up surrounded by roses.

 “Would you be terribly opposed if I were to remove my shirt?” Artemis says breathlessly.

 “Only if I can do the same,” Holly says, already pulling her jumper over her head, and Artemis looks at her, hungry, fond, as he unbuttons his pajama top and slips it off, baring that chest that had her flushing last night.

 The two of them there, Holly shirtless but for her sports bra, and she wonders if he’s remembering standing in the study with No. 1 opening a portal into time.

 Artemis reaches out, so gently, running his fingers along her stomach, trailing heat after them.

 “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he tells her, and pulls her down to kiss him, chest to chest, sternum to sternum. 

 

-

 

Oh, but the novels he’s read, the movies he’s seen, are incomparable to this, to the feel of his skin against hers, the sound she makes when he runs his tongue along her lips. 

 Artemis is drowning in her. He never wants her to get off of him. He never wants to let go of her. It’s a heady thing, made headier when Holly breaks the kiss to lick down his chest, has him growling as her tongue swipes over his nipple, her other hand sliding just short of the band of his pants.

 He wants her. 

 “Holly,” he gasps in English, unable to recall a single word of Gnommish. “Holly,  _ please _ -”

 She looks up. “Are you okay?” she says in English.

 “I’m more than okay,” he says, heart racing. “But I fear you’re actually going to kill me.”

 She smiles. “Do you want to stop?”

 “No. I’m just concerned I’m going to come extremely prematurely.”

 “What happened to lasting an hour and a half?” she teases.

 “Past me had no idea what he was talking about,” Artemis says. “He could never have foresaw how potent and lovely you are.”

 “Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

 “Well, now I  _ know _ I’m going to embarrass myself.”

 Holly laughs, and he leans forward to kiss her neck. 

 “I meant,” she says, shivering, “It’s easier to get to know someone when you’re not stuck underneath them.”

 “I beg to differ,” Artemis murmurs, kissing his way up to her jaw. “But I’ll defer to your superior experience.”

 She slides off him, and he lets her lead him back into the bedroom.

 As he climbs into bed, he watches her open the blinds just enough to let soft light into the room, illuminating her silhouette like an Impressionist painting.

 “Holly Short,” he says, in awe. “I want to make love to you.”

 Holly grins widely and says nothing, letting him watch the sway of her hips, the flexing of corded muscles along her legs. She climbs back into bed, and they just lay there for a while. He runs his hands along her body, along the beautiful arches of her hard-earned biceps, along old scars, and he watches how she shivers as his hand passes along her neck, how her hips buck forward as his fingers trail along her lower abdominal muscles, things he saw but didn’t absorb when he was drowning in her. 

 Holly doesn’t touch him; she lets map her, watching him with heavy lidded eyes, unashamed, patient. He’s so hard it hurts, but her reactions are so… incredible- his own body is irrelevant. He’s touching her, his touch is doing this to her, she’s  _ enjoying _ him doing this to her.

 Her nipples are hard against the fabric of her bra, and he reaches out, looks at her for permission. She smiles her consent, and then moans when he scrapes his thumbnail gently along it, cups her; Holly arches up into him, then abruptly pulls away; he almost asks if he’s hurt her, when he realises she’s just pulling her bra off, and in the light, she all but glows.

 It’s an instinct, how he kisses her breast, an instinct how he encloses her, holding himself over her carefully. She’s so astonishingly beautiful he’s beside himself.

 “ _ Artemis _ ,” she moans.

 “Tell me what to do,” Artemis whispers, and she pulls him to her side, kicking off her underwear, revealing a thatch of dark auburn hair that has him weak. She takes his hand, and guides his hand down to her.

 Wet, God, she’s so  _ wet _ . She arches about him, and he slowly touches her, all his focus on her face, on the incredible noises she’s making. He’s so careful, so awestruck, and as he gets into a rhythm, hits the right spot consistently, her hand leaves his, comes to loop around his neck.

 “A finger,” she manages to say in Gnommish. “Please,  _ Gods _ , your finger-”

 Even more carefully, he complies, slips his middle finger inside of her, feeling the curve of her, and throws her head back as he tries to slide his finger in and out, touching her clit at the same time. It’s clumsy, and he hates that he can’t be instantly good at this for her, but biology is in his favor. Holly is so close it doesn’t matter, and he has the pleasure of watching her cry out as she comes, shuddering against him; as she stills, taking a deep breath, he pulls his hand away, and tastes her. 

 A simple adjective can’t be assigned to it; he was expecting a hint of salt, a subtle sweetness, but it’s just…  _ Holly _ .

 “ _ D’arvit _ ,” she says into the air, exhaling. “Not bad, Arty. How you going over there?”

 “Very well,” he smiles, tracing down her torso; she arches with a soft sigh as his hand circles her nipple. “I know I’ve said this a few times now, but it bears repeating. You’re so beautiful.”

 “I bet you say that to all the girls you’ve seen naked,” Holly quips.

 “Statistically, you aren’t wrong.”

 “Shall I return the favour?” Holly says, rolling to face him, her hand on his stomach.  Truth be told, he had actually forgotten about himself, but he very quickly is reminded of his erection as she shifts, friction against him.

 “Yes,” he murmurs, and he pulls his underwear down, kicks it off somewhere. He’s surprised at his lack of shyness, but he’s so comfortable, so happy, that it doesn’t even occur to him to be nervous now. Holly kisses him long and hard until he’s gasping into her mouth, and she wraps her fingers around him. She makes some quip about his size, slowly stroking up and down, but at this point, her hand has Artemis incoherent, has him bucking up against her. He lasts an embarrassing seven seconds and comes back to himself to find Holly grinning into his collar bone.

 “I know,” he grumbles. “That was appalling. I assure you, that will  _ not _ be a repeat performance.”

 “Well, we have all day for you to redeem yourself,” she teases, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder. “And better now than during the main event.”

 “I think I may need some time to recover,” he apologises, accepting the little towel she pulls out from her bedside table, wiping himself off.

 “I have that effect,” Holly says, and lets him pull her closer, where they breathe in and out, hands entwined.

 

-

 

The rest of the day continues similarly; they fall in and out of sleep, sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for half an hour. But affectionate kisses invariably escalate, and they are eventually, of course, confronted with the most obvious compatibility problem.

 “I think you might be too big,” Holly says.

 Artemis opens his mouth, smirking, and she silences him with a look.

 “I mean logistically,” she continues. “We’re  _ definitely _ going to have to work up to penetrative sex.”

 He rubs his thumb along her thighs. She’s sitting on top of him, skin flush to skin. “We have all the time in the world,” he says eventually. “I’m in no rush.”

 She rocks her hips against him and he arches against her.

 “Besides,” he gasps. “If penetrative sex isn’t an option, there’s cunnilingus, sex toys…”

 “Very true,” Holly agrees, closing her eyes at the feel of him against her, a lazy motion; she opens her eyes to shift a little, and then she sees the clock.

 “Uh,” she says. “Artemis?”

 “Yes?” he chokes out, so achingly close to her. 

 “Aren’t you meant to be catching the shuttle in half an hour?”

-

 

The drive is frantic, Artemis still half dressing himself on the way there; when she pulls up out the front of the station and in the safety of her tinted windows, he stops trying to tie his shoe to give her a long kiss.

 “I’ll see you soon,” she promises him.

 “Not soon enough,” he mumbles, kissing her again, and eventually, laughing, she has to push him out of the car.

 Everyone is staring at him, as he sprints up the steps, and before he goes in, he turns back. He smiles, and though he can’t see her through the windows, she smiles back. And then he’s gone.

 Almost on cue, her phone rings as she pulls out into main traffic.

 “ _ So Artemis went home with you, huh?” _ Mulch says, delight in his voice, and she almost swerves into a building.

 

-

 

Artemis arrives home late at night, feeling rumpled and joyous, and as soon as he steps into the kitchen to heat up dinner’s leftovers, Juliet raises a brow.

 “You got  _ laid _ ,” she accuses him, and he chokes on the sourdough roll he’s biting into.

 “I beg your pardon?”

 “You can’t hide it from me, Artemis,” Juliet says, delighted. “Also, you have a hickey on your neck.”

 “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Artemis says, casually pulling his collar a little higher.

 

-

 

The news spreads through Holly and Artemis’s immediate friends quickly; the entirety of Fowl Manor knows within a day, and Minerva is woken up at two in the morning by an excited Artemis who can’t quite wait til the next day.

 “ _ I’m very happy for you _ ,” she says sleepily down the phone. “ _ But if you ever ring me this early again, I will hire a hitman.” _

__ Foaly is the last person to find out; Holly very casually breaks the news to him over lunch while Caballine is out, and he laughs.

 “I’m serious,” she says quietly, and he sobers up.

 “What?” he splutters. “You and  _ Artemis _ ?”

 Holly, who has been expecting this reaction, finds herself defensive. “If there’s a problem, Foaly-”

 “No! No,” Foaly says hastily. “I’m just… extremely confused. And shocked.”

 “You’re not the only one,” Holly mutters. 

 “Look,” Foaly says. “I don’t understand it. But you’re one of my closest friends, Holly, and if you’re happy, then that’s all that matters to me.” He looks at the table. “I  _ really _ don’t understand it, though.”

 “That’s all I could ask for,” Holly tells him. “ And obviously, this isn’t something I want spread throughout Haven. Not for a while, at least.”

 “Understood.” Foaly scratches his jaw and says, gently, “How is it going to work between you two? Are you going to go topside eventually, or…”

 “One day a time,” Holly says, echoing Artemis. “We’ll figure it out.”

 “If anyone can, it’s you two,” Foaly tells her. “But if kids end up in the picture, I better be their godfather, that’s all I’m saying.”

 

-

 

At the end of the week, Artemis is extremely happy when in the late evening, someone taps on his window.

 “Hello, Holly,” he says, as she unshields and lands on the carpet. She’s in her uniform, he notes with some surprise.

 “It was easier than taking the normal way,” she tells him with a grin. “What’s the point in being Commander if I can’t pull some strings every now and then?”

 “How corrupt of you,” Artemis says, watching her take her uniform off and carefully lay it across his armchair. Underneath she’s in gym clothes; leggings and a t-shirt.

 “Hey, I saved Haven like… five times? Seven? If I want to come see my Mud Man and maybe hop on a shuttle for free, I will.”

 She hops up onto his desk, kisses him. 

 “How’s the wedding planning?”

 “Almost done,” he says. “Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the date.” Artemis frowns. “I did invite you as my plus one, didn’t I?”

 Holly grins. “Yes. Very suburban of you.”

 “You’re right,” Artemis says. “I should have invited Mulch instead. Much more exciting.”

 “Don’t even joke,” Holly grimaces. “Mulch  _ loves _ weddings.”

 “The romance?”

 “The free food.”

 “Ah, of course,” Artemis nods. “Can I get you anything to eat, to drink?”

 Holly waggles her eyebrows, and he laughs. 

 “Is there something I can help you with, Commander?”

 “Yes,” she says, sliding onto the floor. She takes his hand. “An itch I’ve been waiting to scratch all week.”

 “I’m glad to offer my service as your personal back scratcher,” he says innocently, but lets her lead him to his bed. The door is locked; his bedroom is the only one on this floor at this end of the house, and Holly pats the bed.

 “I missed you,” he says. 

 “I missed you too,” she says, and they slip beneath the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a million thanks for the lovely comments!!!!!
> 
> and, it pains me to say, this story is almost at a close. the next chapter will be the last, and should be up within a day or too. as much as i've loved writing this fic, i have other things i want to write, and it's time to draw this to a close. 
> 
> The next chapter will likely be a little longer than usual, though, because guess what!!!!! minerva and cathy still have yet to have their wedding!!!!!!!


	19. the wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cathy and minerva get married. holly and artemis talk. our story comes to an end- for now.

The weeks pass. Artemis puts the SEAnet to the UN; Holly negotiates the possibility of swapping to teaching night classes once she returns to work. Their time together is never long enough, even when they don’t physically part for hours, and little things begin to appear in Artemis’s room; a spare pair of underwear. A toothbrush. Pajamas. He looks upon each addition with love, and awards them their own drawer in his walk-in wardrobe.   

  They spend their time together as all new lovers do; talking, laughing, wearing the minimum amount of clothing possible. Artemis gets a cramp in his hand during one such prolonged period of nakedness, and they discover he greatly prefers going down on her (much to their mutual delight). One finger becomes two, then three. Holly rediscovers her love of dirty talk, and that Artemis will try anything once, and they’re utterly, totally engrossed in each other.

 Artemis doesn’t come to Haven; Holly prefers the freedom of the manor, and he understands. For now, it’s easier, but as it gets closer to the end of her leave, it begins to hang over the two of them- that soon, she won’t just be able to fly up to Ireland. That their nights together will relegated to weekends at best.

 But the wedding is only days away, and Artemis is busy confirming everything and making sure the guests’ accomodation is in order. He doesn’t want to spend his precious moments with Holly trying to navigate the tricky situation that is their future, so he doesn’t. He sends off several emails to Foaly, who refers him to one of Haven’s top lawyers, and plan begins to form.

 In the meantime, their kisses become longer, more desperate as the days tick down, and by the time the wedding rolls around, they’re spending almost every day together, inseparable, a study in love.

 

-

 

The alarm goes off, a loud, appalling shriek, and Holly’s eyes fly open.

 “Artemis,” she says, rubbing her eyes. The alarm is on his side of the hotel bed, and he’s groaning in protest as she climbs over him, worming out of his embrace in the process.

 “Damned wedding,” he mutters, as she turns it off. “Can’t we just… sleep in…”

 She shakes his shoulder, stopping him from dozing off. “Hey, don’t you dare. Minerva will have me assassinated if you aren’t on time this morning.” 

 He mumbles something, and she peppers his face with kisses, fond but insistent, just out of reach of his lips. 

 “Come on,” she says. Artemis mumbles something, blindly raising his face for a kiss.

 “Not until you’re ready to go,” she says, and slides out of the bed before he can pull her to him.

 “Are you trying to kill me?” he says, his sleep-rough voice warming her. “Because if so, you’re succeeding. I don’t know if I can make it to the bathroom without a good morning kiss.”

 “You’ll manage,” she teases, pulling on her own clothes. She doesn’t mind the four o’clock start partly because of her inbuilt nature as a morning person, but mainly because once they get to Minerva’s, she’s just going straight back to sleep. Artemis, on the other hand, is not used to early starts, and is not going to be afforded the luxury of a nap on Minerva’s wedding day. It’s a good thing they packed their bags last night, because Artemis seems incapable of doing anything more complex right now than tying his shoelaces. When they’re both dressed, he turns to her, shouldering his bag. 

 “I believe you owe me a kiss?” he says pointedly, and she meets him halfway as his hand strokes along her neck. A gentle kiss turns hot and she has to push him away, laughing, because otherwise they’re going to be late; minutes later they rush out the door, climbing into the taxi that waits for them. 

 The French countryside speeds past them, the sun only just peeking its head above the horizon. Artemis falls asleep on the hour long ride, head resting on top of hers. She takes his hand, wide awake.

 After this weekend, Holly has to go back to Section Eight; to Haven. And she’s excited, because she loves her job, but…

 No, she tells herself. She isn’t worrying about this today.

 Artemis wakes with a start when the taxi eventually pulls up alongside Minerva and Cathy’s house, and groggily gets out, taking his bag with him. Holly takes her own and they walk hand in hand up to the house.

 “It’s far too early,” he mutters. 

 He looks sleepy, stubble on his chin and messy hair, and she is, of course, overcome with fondness. She squeezes his hand and then Minerva flings open the door.

 “Finally,” she says in French. “Took you long enough!”

 

-

 

While Holly retires to the guest bedroom to nap, Artemis and Minerva have some breakfast and a cup each of very strong coffee, and then confirm all the catering arrangements, the final number of guests attending, that the cake is en route and that her hairdresser and make up artist is still to be attending in two hours time. At quarter past nine, Cathy wanders in, clad in her dressing gown, yawning.

 “Morning,” she says to the two of them, bending to kiss Minerva on the cheek. “Where’s Holly?”

 “Having a nap,” Artemis says darkly. 

 “Thank you again, Artemis,” Minerva says, and he softens.

 “You’re very welcome,” he replies.

 It’s going to be a mid afternoon ceremony at the winery they took that photo at all those weeks ago, which will then lead straight into the reception out the back, overlooking the countryside. 

 It will look, Artemis thinks,  _ breathtaking _ . He knows this because he organised every inch of it himself.

 “Why don’t you join Holly for a bit, Artemis?” Cathy suggests. “I’m sure Minerva doesn’t need you around to watch her hair get styled.”

 “She’s right,” Minerva says reluctantly, when Artemis looks at her. 

 “Plus, I’d love to spend some time with my fiancee,” Cathy adds, and Minerva smiles so widely Artemis half expects her face to split open. “Go get some sleep.”

 “If you insist,” Artemis says gratefully, and all but runs to the guestroom.

 

-

 

Holly wakes up when Artemis climbs into the bed, and turns to face him. She tucks his hair behind his ear as he snuggles in, watching his mismatched eyes flutter closed.

 “Everything okay out there?” she asks him. 

 “Yes,” he says, not opening his eyes. “Cathy very generously gave me an opportunity to rest while Minerva gets her hair done.”

 “What if Minerva needs you? What if they give her a French braid... instead of a  _ fishtail _ ?” 

 (Artemis and Minerva took a very long time to settle on the way her hair would look, and Holly now knows more about hair than she ever should, considering she has less than half a centimeter of it.)

 “As terrible a tragedy that would be,” he sighs, pulling her closer, “Minerva is more than capable of berating her stylists.”

 She kisses his cheek, snuggles into his chest. His heartbeat is so much slower than hers, a ponderous noise that lulls her eyes shut, but not all the way to sleep. Artemis, meanwhile, is dead to the world. She knows, because she can feel his thigh twitching every now and then, a tic she has grown used to.

 She knows Artemis wants to talk about how this is going to work when she’s no longer to come and go so freely. Being the Commander of Section Eight isn’t something she can do remotely; she has to be in the office, ready for a crisis at a moment’s call. But Haven isn’t  _ built  _ for Artemis, even disregarding his long and chequered history with the place. He’s only average height by human standards, but in Haven, he might as well be a giant. 

 She’ll probably have to speak to Trouble about it, a thought which gives her hives. Where as Foaly had been utterly bemused but still accepting, Trouble had been utterly bemused and distrustful of Artemis’s intentions, as if Holly is incapable of punching his lights out if he were to do something questionable.

 And she’d have to apply for a different apartment. Maybe even buy one, have it renovated so it suits the two of them. It would be easier for Artemis to live with her than her with him-

 Holly’s eyes snap open.  _ Living _ with each other? It’s only been a month, and it’s not as simple as him just hopping on the shuttle down to Haven, Holly! 

 Artemis’s arms tighten around her in his sleep, bringing her back to the present.

 If there’s anyone who can make this work, she thinks, it’s him, and she closes her eyes once more.

 

-

 

Minerva looks gorgeous, absolutely stunning, as does Cathy; Artemis watches Holly take photo after photo on Minerva’s phone once the stylists leave, and the two of them carefully eat dried fruit and nuts while Artemis and Holly indulge in fresh, albeit crude, sandwiches, unhampered by fresh makeup.

 After that, they all sojourn to their rooms to get dressed. Artemis struggles not to get distracted as Holly changes, stepping out of her pants and jumper like she’s not the most gorgeous thing in existence. He almost cuts himself shaving when he sees her in the mirror, naked, bending over pick up her shoes.

 He’s wearing an impeccable tuxedo, cut from a deep, sky-blue fabric with a white shirt and a golden bowtie, hair swept back with pomade. He doesn’t usually wear bright colors, but for Minerva’s wedding, he’ll make an exception.

 “You look fantastic,” Holly says. “Can you zip me up?”

 “I’d rather zip you down,” he says, but carefully pulls the zip up. She’s wearing a long sleeved floral jumpsuit, full of rich, warm colors that make her skin glow. Then she puts on a pair of heels he had specially made for her when she expressed concerns about looking absurdly short next to him at such a public event; thick, sturdy heels that look chic without wobbling.

 “Have I told you today how beautiful you look?” he murmurs, kissing her jaw. “And how I’m the luckiest man alive?”

 “You have, but I don’t mind you repeating yourself,” Holly says, turning to face him; he kisses her until they’re both breathless, and he reluctantly parts from her to pull on his tan oxfords.

 A rap on their door. “You both ready?” Cathy says.

 “Yes,” Artemis replies, straightening up, and she opens the door. Holly picks up her jacket. “Is the limousine here?”

 “Just pulled up,” Cathy replies. “Poor driver, he must have had a hell of a time getting here.”

 “He’s being paid  _ very _ well,” Artemis reassures her. Her gown- a deep gold with red embroidery- sits perfect, just as his tailor promised.

 “Come on,” Minerva says over Cathy’s shoulder. “I want to get married, let’s move it!”

 They all pile into the limousine, Minerva complaining when she creases her own golden gown, and then they’re on their way.

 

-

 

Holly sits down and watches Artemis as he directs guests, instructs chairs to be rearranged, chats with the five-piece jazz band tuning their instruments. As guests steadily come in, she gets a few curious looks; she assumes since she’s sitting down that it must be her shaven head- today, she’s wearing prosthetics that even out the shape of her ear.

 Cathy’s family sit on the other side of the aisle, all beaming, and Holly is quite glad when a familiar bulk settles next to her.

 “Butler,” she says warmly, as he wraps her in a huge hug.

 “You look lovely,” he says. “This is my partner, Samuel.”

 A rugged looking blond man leans across to shake her hand; much like Butler’s, his hand dwarfs hers.

 “A pleasure,” Samuel says quietly. 

 “Mr. and Mrs. Fowl should be arriving shortly with the twins and Juliet,” Butler says, craning to look at the arriving guests. “They were flying in separately. How’s Minerva?”

 “Excited,” Holly grins. “Almost insufferably so.”

 “Butler,” Artemis says, coming over to them. “And Samuel, lovely to see you again,” he adds, leaning across to shake the man’s hand. “Butler, where’s the rest of my family? I hope Juliet hasn’t lost them.”

 “They should be here any second,” Butler assures him. “The set up here looks lovely by the way.”

 “Having Minerva’s extensive fortune at my fingertips made things much smoother,” Artemis says graciously, “But thank you very much.” He stoops to kiss Holly on the cheek. She’s still getting used to the idea that on the sky-side of the surface, their relationship is unremarkable past their height difference. She smiles at him.

 “Ah, there they are,” Samuel says, patting Butler’s arm; Holly watches the Fowls come in with the last few guests, Juliet holding the twin’s hands. They spot her first, and the twins all but drag Juliet over.

 “Holly!” Beckett says excitedly, climbing up onto Butler’s lap. “I have to show you what Juliet taught me, I can put you in a chokehold now!”

 “A  _ bad _ one,” Myles says immediately. “He’s not very good at it.”

 “A chokehold?” Butler says disapprovingly, and Holly and Artemis grin.

 “Domovoi,” Juliet says, “I love you. But you never had to bring up  _ twins _ .”

 “No,” Butler says. “Just Artemis.”

 Holly laughs, and then Angelina and Arty Sr. join them.

 “Lovely to see you, Holly,” Angelina says warmly, gracefully leaning over the twins to kiss her on both cheeks. “I hope my son isn’t giving you too much trouble.”

 “No more than usual,” Holly jokes, and shakes Arty Sr.’s hand warmly. 

 “You better all sit down,” Artemis says, checking his watch. “The ceremony will start in a minute.” He ducks down and kisses Holly on the corner of her mouth. “I’ll see you all afterwards,” he says, and then he’s following Gaspard Paradizo, dressed in a similar suit, to the little podium where the celebrant stands. The two men stand opposite Cathy’s bridesmaids, and Holly sees Artemis nod to the band.

  The band counts in and a slow, but jazzy wedding march fills the air. The congregation turns its heads as one to see Minerva and Cathy, hand in hand, walking up the aisle.

 They both look luminescent, stunning, elevated by happiness. They carry no bouquets- Minerva has pollen allergies, Artemis had long ago bemoaned- but they don’t need it; the two of them grin like idiots possessed, brighter than any flower ever could be. She sees Minerva murmur something to Cathy, and Cathy laughs. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and it’s a wonderful day for a wedding.

 

-

 

Artemis has spent so much time organising this wedding, it’s not until Minerva and Cathy walk down the aisle that he realises it’s actually happening- that one of his best friends is getting  _ married. _

 Gaspard and him watch the two of them. The band is playing exactly as he practised with them last week, and the weather is perfect, and the cake has arrived and there was only one issue with the catering, which has been resolved- some moron didn’t realise for the stove to work, the pilot light for the gas system had to be on.

 He’s well aware of the propensity for weddings to go wrong at every conceivable moment, and he’s half expecting something ridiculous to happen- for Opal Koboi to descend from the sky in a giant war robot and smash the wedding cake, or something similar. But Minerva and Cathy make it down the aisle uninterrupted, and as Minerva beams at her father, he relaxes.

 The celebrant clears his throat, and begins in French-accented English.

 “Good afternoon, everyone. A warm welcome to the wedding ceremony of Cathy Jones and Minerva Paradizo, a ceremony they have put together themselves. They welcome you, not only to witness their commitment to each other, but also to wish them well, and every happiness in their new life together.”

 Artemis’s eyes drift to Holly, taking her in, as the celebrant continues.

 “My name is Peter Beauregard. I am a registered Civil Celebrant, authorised to conduct marriage ceremonies in France in accordance with current laws. I would like to thank Cathy and Minerva for choosing me to be their celebrant; it is an honor and a privilege.”

 She looks at him and smiles, jerks her head a little; mouths, in Gnommish,  _ pay attention! _

 “A special thank you to Cathy’s family and friends, who have travelled all this way to join us…”

 Artemis zones out despite Holly’s admonishment as the celebrant runs through the required aspects of the ceremony; going through the significance of marriage in law, so on, so forth. He’s imagining him and Holly there in their place, and he’s also, frankly, a little hungry. It’s a distracting combination.

 “I do,” Cathy says, startling him back into himself.

 “And Minerva, do you take Cathy to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and respect her? Do you promise to share all life has to offer, your hopes and dreams, your achievements and disappointments with her from this day forward?”

 “I do,” Minerva says, a smile on her face that’s blinding.

 He has them repeat the required legal vows, and offers Cathy the microphone so that they may say their personal vows.

 “Minerva,” she says, “You didn’t walk into my life; you dragged me into yours.”

 Artemis chuckles along with several other audience members, and Minerva laughs.

 “And if you told me two years ago I would be getting married in the French countryside to some wealthy woman who can’t tell a shiraz from a grenache,” she teases, “I’d be horrified. But here I am, in France, marrying you, and I couldn’t be happier. To quote your guilty pleasure poet,” Cathy adds, continuing in shaky but clear French: “For, you see, each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.”

 Minerva sniffs, laughing, dabbing her eyes, and Cathy passes her the microphone.

 “I told you never to tell anyone I indulge in Rosemonde Gérard,” she says in English, and some of the French speakers laugh.

 “Cathy,” Minerva says after a few moments. “You changed me. You made me- you  _ make  _ me- a better woman. For a long time, I was a lost girl. Home is not where

you are from. It is where you belong. And I have found my home in  _ you _ .”

 Artemis realises he is crying, and is gratified to see Butler doing the same over in the audience, amongst many others; he looks at Holly, and she looks tearily back at him.

 The celebrant calls for the rings; Cathy’s maid of honor passes them to him. Cathy and Minerva repeat after the celebrant, slipping the simple platinum rings onto each other’s fingers: “With this ring I marry you, and offer a symbol of my everlasting love.”

 At this point, Cathy and Minerva grip each other's hands to tightly that Artemis can see their knuckles turning white.

   “Cathy and Minerva have declared before me and before all of you, their family and friends, that they will live together in marriage; they have symbolized it by joining hands, taking vows and by exchanging rings.” The celebrant pauses to bestow a smile before saying that iconic phrase:

 “I declare Cathy and Minerva to be wife, and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

 “Finally,” Artemis hears Minerva mutter, and they embrace passionately as every person in the audience cheers, claps, Artemis among them. The wedding register is signed by both bridal parties, and then the crowd swells around them, family and friends offering their love and congratulations.

-

 

The reception is, of course, gorgeous. The band plays gentle jazz standards as people chatter, sipping wine and snacking on the giant cheese platters on every table. The sun is warm, the breeze gentle, and Holly settles happily into her seat at Juliet’s side as the crowd filters in and out. Dinner won’t begin for an hour and a half, and many people split off to go for a walk, or to go to the winery and sample it’s wares.

 Artemis appears some half an hour later, overseeing the installation of heaters for when the sun will eventually go down. Once the final heater is weighted in place, he comes to stand behind Holly, a hand on her shoulder as his family gives him compliment after compliment for his planning.

 “It’ll be especially lovely when the stars come out,” is all he’ll say, and then he has to duck off to the kitchen to make sure the chefs are on schedule.

Juliet turns to her and says, very quietly with a smile, “I am so glad I’m sitting next to you and not the twins.”

 Holly looks at the twins, who are seated between their parents, happily chatting with them.

 “Long day?”

 “The  _ longest _ ,” Juliet sighs. “I love them like my own brother, but looking after them day after day… it can get a little old.”

 “They seem lovely,” Holly says. 

 “I never said they weren’t,” Juliet replies. “But Myles has figured out how to crack my safe several times now, and it is starting to become a  _ problem _ .”

  “Weapons?”

  “Porn,” she says, and Holly chokes out a laugh.

-

 

The chefs are happy, the waiting staff is at the ready, the bar is open, and once Cathy and Minerva emerge in their dinner outfits (Cathy had refused to do an MC’d grand entrance, much to Artemis’s relief and Minerva’s horror) and chat with the majority of their guests, it’s time for the first dance, which is the one thing he had nothing to do with, and consequently is mildly apprehensive about. The sun is starting to set, and after making sure all the portable gas heaters are operational, he takes a microphone and steps onto the portable dance floor. Clearing his throat, conversation dies down and everyone turns to him.

 “Good evening, everyone,” he says. “I’ll be your host for the evening. My name is Artemis Fowl, and I have the honor to introduce for the first time, as wife and wife, Cathy and Minerva.”

 He pauses for applause and the stray wolf whistle, watching Cathy and Minerva make their way onto the floor, hand in hand.

 “They’ll be dancing their first dance to Cole Porter’s  _ You Do Something to Me _ ,” he says, and motions towards the band who begin.

 It’s Ella Fitzgerald’s version, but even slower; the female singer croons gentle and Artemis steps off the floor and out of the way of the audience and the photographer, watching them along with everyone else.

 They don’t do anything flashy, or anything choreographed. It’s just a simple two-step, but Minerva has her head resting on Cathy’s, and Cathy has Minerva’s hand held to her heart. They look so blissfully divine, and Artemis glances at Holly, who is watching them with her cheek resting her on her hands, a gentle smile on that face he loves.

 He hasn’t said it yet, hasn’t said those three words. She knows he does, of course, but saying it is another thing; it requires the perfect moment. Perhaps sensing his glance, she looks at him, that smile tipping into something that even from this distance, has his heart pounding.

 As the song finishes, the newlyweds kiss long and sweet as people hoot and cheer.

 “And now for the father-daughter and mother-daughter dance,” Artemis announces, gesturing for both parents to join the newlyweds. Their dance is equally lovely, and then Artemis opens up the floor to everyone after advising dinner will begin in half an hour. And then he goes to speak once more with the waiters.

 As much as he’s enjoying the fruits of his labour, all he wants to do right now is sit with Holly. He looks at her apologetically as he returns to the kitchen, and she gives him a reassuring smile, waving her hand at him.

 God, he loves her.

 

-

 

The rest of the reception goes just as well; the speeches are seamless (Artemis’s especially, of course) and the food sublime. As planned, by nine o’clock everyone is at the ideal level of tipsiness and satisfaction. The cake is cut; just as perfect as he knew it would be, though of course Minerva and Cathy don’t deign to daub each others faces with it. At this point the moon hangs in the sky; the fairy lights Artemis painstaking laid out the plans for strung perfectly across the dance floor and over the tables, suspended in mid air like the stars themselves. The heaters blaze, and blessedly, the wind has died down entirely.

 The band finishes for the evening to much applause and then Artemis, who has been painstakingly compiling this terrible playlist for the last week, switches on the sound system to play a shamefully groovy collection of 70’s and 80’s hits.

 The dance floor, already quite full, is suddenly jam packed, and after making sure the dishes are being cleared away, his duties for the night are essentially done until it comes time to go. Somehow he makes his way on aching feet back to Holly, who is sitting by herself, watching Butler and Samuel do- of all things- the Macarena.  

 “There you are,” she teases, as he collapses into the seat he’s barely occupied all night. “I’m shocked you’re still upright.”

 “So am I,” he says, waving goodbye to Minerva’s elderly aunt, who is being led away by her husband. “If you’re offering to give me a foot rub, I won’t turn you down.”

 “If you ask me  _ very _ nicely,” she says. “I’ll consider it.”

 He leans over to kiss her. She tastes like buttercream icing and citrus.

 “Would you like to dance?” he offers.

 “Dancing isn’t my thing,” she says. “ _ Vertical _ dancing, anyway.”

 She waggles her brows and he rolls his eyes, grinning. Artemis drags his chair closer to hers so he can wrap an arm around her, and they sit for some time like that; making quips, watching people dancing and shouting and cheering. A notable moment is when Juliet breaks out her pop-and-lock moves in response to Butler’s more funky ones, and then there’s suddenly a dance battle.

 “I’m so incredibly thankful the photographer is getting this,” Artemis says, as Butler does the snorkel.

“Since when can Butler  _ dance?” _ Holly says, agape.

 “Madame Ko trains her initiates in everything,” Artemis says, watching his bodyguard turned father-figure. “If there’s something he doesn’t know how to do, it’s probably not worth doing.”

 He pauses. “Though, to be honest, I don’t think this is something Madame Ko would be proud to see.”

 He says this just in time for Butler to drop to the floor to do the worm, and Holly laughs so hard she almost passes out.

-

 

Cathy and Minerva go to pile into their luxury taxi as everyone bids their goodbyes, eager to be on their honeymoon even as they patiently hug friends and family.

 “Thank you so much, Artemis,” Cathy says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 “You did good,” Minerva quips, but presses a kiss to his cheek and wraps him in a hug that lifts him off the ground. “Thank you,” she mumbles in his ear.

 “You’re both very welcome,” he says with no small amount of emotion, and Holly takes his hand as they wave them off; soon the taxi’s headlights disappear entirely, and everyone returns to the dancefloor until Artemis announces the last song, and the rowdy crowd filters out. The Fowls are staying at an estate nearby; a family vacation. Butler and Samuel are retiring to a bed and breakfast a half hour drive away. They bid their farewells and like the rest of the guests, get into the fleet of taxis Artemis organised weeks ago.

 Holly sits patiently as Artemis helps direct the packing up; it’s only once the plates are washed, the decorations disassembled, the catering crews driving away, that he and Holly take a taxi of their own to the hotel they originally came from, an hour away.

 Artemis falls asleep again on the way there, but Holly is wide awake once more, her hand wrapped in his. 

 Tomorrow, she tells herself. They’ll talk about it tomorrow.

 

-

 

For once, Artemis is too tired to do anything more than kiss Holly on cheek as they get ready for bed. They strip quietly, efficiently; shower together and then climb into bed, naked and warm, Holly wrapped around him as much as she can.

 Artemis falls asleep almost instantly.

 He wakes up with the sensation of lips against his back, a warm body flush against the lines of his own, and a staggering case of morning wood, a deja vu he can’t place.

 Still dozy with sleep, he lies there, luxuriating in the tiny bit of morning sun coming through the curtains, revelling in how Holly slowly presses a kiss against the back of his neck.

 “Good morning,” she says. He rolls over to face her, resting his forehead against her cheek and nuzzling into her.

 “A very good morning,” he agrees. 

 “And a very good wedding.”

 “An  _ exceptional _ wedding,” Artemis corrects her.

 “Maybe you should go into the wedding business,” Holly says thoughtfully. He kisses her neck, her cheek, and relishes in how she shivers.

 “There’s only one other wedding I’m interested in planning,” he murmurs. 

 “Mulch and Doodah’s?” Holly says innocently, and he laughs, bites her on her ear, and then she’s arching into him, fingers digging into his back.

 By now, her body is no longer an unknown to him; there’s much more to learn, but he knows how to stroke the crook of her elbow to get her shuddering, how she likes being grasped firmly on the hip, and this morning is a lazy exploration. 

 They move together, a heat borderline uncomfortable beneath the covers, sweat beading on Artemis’s back, running down Holly’s chest.

 Holly says to him, “Do you want to try?”

 “Try what?” he gasps; her hand is wrapped around him, teasing and gentle.

 “Vaginal sex,” Holly says. “I’d say we’ve done almost everything else at this point.”

 “Yes,” he says. “But let me prepare you a little first.”

 She goes to make some quip about there not being much to prepare for, but he’s already between her legs, running his tongue along the seam of her, coaxing and warm. Holly is already incredibly wet, but Artemis has always been a man who believes if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing  _ well _ .

 He eases one finger into her; two, then three, slowly in and out while he’s breathing her, tasting her. Holly is shaking, moaning, begging, and once his three fingers are moving so easily he could feasibly fit in a fourth, he pauses to look up at her.

 “Are you ready?”

 “I’ve been ready for weeks,” she smiles, and he takes out a condom, rolls it on. They change so she’s on top.

 “Are  _ you _ ready?” Holly asks, grinning. “I hope you’re going to last a little longer than seven seconds.”

 “I’ve been ready for months,” he says softly, reaching out to cup her cheek. Her grin turns to a smile, and then Holly eases down onto him with a grunt.

 He holds as still as he can while she adjusts but his focus narrows down to this singular feeling; to warmth, to wetness, to an intimacy somehow even above what they’ve done before. And then Holly moves against him, and it’s a timeless pleasure, a moment stretched bare and long; he starts lying down, but he wants her, needs her  _ close _ , and he sits up so he can hold her, her legs crossing around him.

 He’s kissing every inch of her he can reach while they thrust against each other, her fingers curling into his hair as she moans, sounds increasing in urgency and pitch, and he’s struggling to hold on. He shifts, trying to pull her even closer, and must brush against her clit just right because suddenly she’s crying his name and the dam breaks, and for several seconds, the universe consists solely of them.

 As they both come back down, Artemis says into her neck, “I love you.”

 

-

 

 It takes her by surprise; her heart skips a beat, even though it’s been written in his body, his hands, his eyes, since the third time they kissed, and she finds her voice when his thumb rubs a gentle, patient circle on her back.

 “I love you too,” Holly says in a small voice, pondrous; how far they’ve come. She knows it’s time to finally have this conversation. So after he slides out of her, disposes of the condom, she says, “I go back to work next week, Artemis. I won’t be able to just see you whenever I want to, and you can’t just fly into Haven whenever you want to. How can we make this work?”

 “I’ve been talking to a lawyer in Haven,” Artemis says. “Foaly got me in contact with him.”

 “About…?”

 “Immigration,” he says tentatively. “Nothing definite, yet, of course,” he adds quickly. “And I would never actually do anything unless you were comfortable with it. But theoretically, if I could immigrate to Haven, I could buy my own apartment. I already work as a contracted advisor for the LEP, so feasibly I could apply for a work visa to begin with, and apply for citizenship from there.”

 Holly blinks. “But you’re human,” she says eventually.

 “There has to be a first time for everything,” Artemis says. “But if you don’t want me to-”

 “No,” she says hastily. “It’s just… it’s unheard of. And the media…”

 “The media can, to borrow a turn of phrase Juliet holds dear, fuck right off,” he says, and the words coming from his mouth makes her laugh. “But this would be a process taking months, maybe even years. I’m not going to just casually slot right in next door to you by Christmas.”

 “You would move to Haven for me?” she says, stunned.

 “I would move to  _ Atlantis _ for you,” he says. “Maybe even Russia.”

 “And your work?”

 “I work from home, Holly,” he reminds her. “If anything, Haven’s internet speeds would only make me more productive.”

 “Your family?”

 He hesitates then, but shakes his head. “I can visit them every week. And I’m well past the expected age to move out.”

 She surveys him. There is nothing but earnestness, nothing but love. He means every word of it; he is planning to uproot his life, to lose the sun and the moon, to be close to her. It is more love than she knows what to do with.

 “Artemis,” she says. “You wonderful Mud Man.”

 “Yes, Holly?”

 “Kiss me,” she says a smile, and he does; slowly, slowly, he kisses her, for this discussion will be one spanning years, now it has begun. It can wait a little longer, until they open the curtains and rejoin the rest of the world, step into what will be uphill battles against centuries old laws and prejudices. 

 For now, it is just the two of them. And that is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> done!!!!!!!!! we're done!!! i published this fic a year and a half ago!!!!!!!! and now we here!!!!
> 
> thank you so, so much for reading this- for both readers who followed this from the start, and readers who are just finding this fic now. it's been a pleasure to write this indulgent nonsense, and an even greater pleasure to read the many comments that have been left on it.
> 
> i have a few ideas for more artemis/holly fics, but currently, i have two other fics in progress, and some big life changes expected towards the end of this year! so if I return to this wonderful little part of ao3, it won't be for a while. but i can envision a sequel fic to this one, a little less self indulgent and a little more about the uphill battle that human immigration will be, and the prejudices they'll face.
> 
> in the meantime, peace out!! (and lets all hope the disney adaption is passable please god i beg)


End file.
